Bell knocked on Lois Lane's office door the next morning. "Mr. Lawley said that you wanted to see me?" he asked.
"Yes Paul. I wanted you to look this over. This is my article on the refugee story. I wanted to get your opinion before I show it to Mr. White. Sit down."
When he sat in the chair next to her desk, she handed him the article. As he read the story a smile came across his face. "This is great! Everyone is going to love this quote by that Korean guy that we talked to, 'America gave my family safety from Japan. Thank you! If war happen. If America want me. I fight for America so American never be prisoner of Japan. I love God, then my family and then America' That is a good idea to leave in the bad grammar. It shows sincerity." he said.
"That's what I was thinking. I think Mr. White will like it, too. I wanted to ask you about something else," she said as he handed back the document. "What do you know about Chinatown's orphanage?"
"The orphanage?" Paul said, surprised.
"Yes, the orphanage. Your pastor said that was the only place that he knew of that had Jap Americans. Where are they coming from if there are no Jap American adults? Now I believe that Paster Deng only knows the people that he admitted to knowing. That doesn't mean that his information is completely accurate. How do we know that there isn't a small Jap American Fifth Column? They could have moved in since the Census or they could have lied about being Chinese. With the shipyards and munitions plants, Metropolis would be a target for such things in the war," Lois said.
"I never thought of that," Paul said uncomfortably.
"That is what an investigative reporter has to at least consider. Right now, I have no evidence that such a cell exists. For the record, I hope that I don't find one, because if I find one, I'll be worrying that I missed one. I don't write that type of paranoia unless I have some real evidence. That's yellow journalism. An investigative reporter's job is to investigate. So, what do you know about the orphanage?" she asked.
"Well," he started. "I know that it is by Curtis Elementary. I know that Mr. Pang started it. I heard that it is the only orphanage for Asian Americans on the East Coast. I don't know if that is true. It is run by a Board of Directors. I know that the pastor of Chinatown First Baptist is one of the directors. There is another orphange in Kensington for Negro kids. I've heard that some of the kids are foundlings. They don't even know if they are Jap, Chinese, Burmese or what. Some are racially mixed. What else would you like to know?"
"Did you go to school with any of the orphans?" Lois asked.
"Not that I know of," he answered. "You know, now that I think about it, my graduating class was two hundred thirty-one kids. I didn't know everyone. I guess there could have been a few and if they had kept to themselves or just had a different set of friends or maybe a different class schedule, I could have missed them. "
"Lets talk around it. You said that the orphanage is near what school?" Lane asked.
"Charles Curtis Elementary School," Bell answered.
"Named for President Hoover's Vice President?" she asked.
"Yeah. All the public schools in Chinatown are named for people in American history. There are, um, seven elementary schools, two junior highs and one high school. The high school is named John Hanson High," he answered.
"I will say one thing; you are an endless supply of new information. Who was John Hanson?" she asked.
"Oh, the first popularly elected President of the United States of America," he said casually.
Lois looked at him a little funny. "According to my history books, that was George Washington."
"Did your history books happen to mention the Articles of Confederation?" Paul countered
Lois had a feeling that she was about to walk into a trap. "Briefly," she said cautiously.
"There is a dedication plaque on the outside of the school that tells the story. Long story short is that there were several presidents during the Articles of Confederation years. At that time, one could only be president for a year. The first few presidents were elected by Congress. Hanson was the first publicly elected president. Most Americans have forgotten about that era. Mr. Pang thought that by having the school named for President Hanson, it would increase Americans' knowledge of our country's history." Paul answered.
"Who are the other schools named after?" she asked curious.
"Well, let's see. Curtis. Samuel Morse Elementary and Betsy Ross Elementary feed into Thomas McKean Junior High. McKean was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence from Delaware. He was one of the presidents that was elected by Congress even before Hanson. I thought that everybody knew this stuff. Oh, I'm sorry. that was really rude." Paul got very red in the face. Kicking himself, he said, 'Keep it up moron and you will lose your best friend here.'
'No, I didn't know this stuff. Don't worry about it." Lois said and smiled.
"Well, three of the other four elementary schools feed into Peyton Randolph Junior High. Randolph was the head of the Second Continental Congress when they declared independence from Britain in 1776. Bethie went to Davey Crockett Elementary. The other two are Thomas Bayard Elementary. He was a senator who ran for president a couple of times in the 1800's, also from Delaware and Lue Elementary.
The story that I'm told is that Lue Gim Gong was an immigrant who got to naturalize before it became illegal for Chinese to do so. He did something to improve how oranges survive winter in Florida. I understand that he developed some kind kind of cross fertilization technique. Lue Elementary is the official name but the plaque tells the story of him, I'm told. Hey, why not a Chinese American? It is Chinatown. Anyway, the last school is Abigail Adams Elementary. Their students split between the two junior highs because of where the school is located."
"I can't believe that you know the name of every school, down there." Lois said.
"Why not? You have to remember that Chinatown is a closed community. It isn't that large compared to a lot of the other ethnic neighborhoods. Kensington has more than twice our population. So do a lot of the other more established neighborhoods, like Little Italy or Little Paris. Everything is still new.
I'm an old timer. Most of the people have been there less than eleven years. I remember Chinatown being built. When Connor and I started school, there was only one elementary school for Asians. That building is now the vocational education building of the high school. I remember when each school opened. I remember when a lot of the churches were being built and all of the house construction and well, I pretty much saw my entire community built. I was born and raised in Metropolis. Not that many people can say that in Chinatown. I saw it all happen," Paul said
Lois stared at him for a moment. Paul started fidgeting. He said, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm coming off like a jerk today. I don't know why.'
"Forget it. Everyone has a bad day, once in a while. I hope that you are in a better mood when we meet Mr. Pang, this afternoon," Lois said offhandedly.
"We are going to what?" Paul said incredulously.
"Mr. White arranged it. We have an appointment at two. Do you have your camera?" Lois asked.
"Yes, I..left it in my locker. I forgot to take it home the other day." He paused a moment. "Why me? Not that I don't want to go, I do, but Mr. White hasn't had me checked out yet."
"Because you have a true passion for what he has done and that is important. Another reason is that you know that I have seen what he has done so you know that I respect what he is doing. If you come, you have to understand that I have no intention of writing an article to put him in a bad light, but this is a real interview and I have to ask real questions. I can't have you answer for him and rushing to his defense. Do you understand?"
Lois had most serious look on her face that Paul had ever seen on a woman's face. The unsaid statement was clear: he was in the Big Leagues. The days of a community paper were over. This was the adult world.
She kept staring at her until he answered. "I understand." He swallowed. What had he committed himself, to?
"I forgot to ask you over for dinner on Sunday. Mom liked meeting you the other day and wants to get to know you a little better. Are you doing anything around two o'clock?"
"Not that I know of. Tell your mom that I'd love to come." Lois answered as they arrived at the main office of PIE Industries. It was a ten story office building several miles from the heart of the business district. The neighboring buildings were about half as tall. They drove into a company garage that was behind the main building. What amazed the both of them was the level of security there was in the building. The closer one got to Pang's office the tighter the security was.
Lane commented to Bell, "I covered a White House event once. President Roosevelt didn't have this kind of security."
"I had heard that security here was tight, but knowing it and seeing it are two different things," he agreed.
Before they were shown into his office suite, two middle aged women who looked like they should have been matrons at the local jail insisted that they be allowed to search Lane's purse. Bell's camera was checked as well. Their coats were taken.
When they finally entered Mr. Pang's office, they both had felt like they had gone through a security system worthy of Fort Knox. William Pang rose from his desk and came over to greet them. What surprised the two reporters was that three guards were in the room including one of the women. Pang shook both of their hands and introduced himself.
Lane introduced them both which was good since Bell had suddenly become tongue tied. "Paul Bell? Are you DJ and Nora Bell's boy?"
"Y-yes sir," he stammered. WOW HE KNEW ABOUT ME! he thought.
He slapped Paul on the shoulder. "Relax, son. You're among friends. I'd seen a couple of your pictures in the Gazette. Saw that spread in the Planet yesterday, but I thought that it was another photographer with the same name. I remember when you were born. Your daddy was passing out the cigars and I would have sworn that he was the happiest man in Metropolis. You probably don't remember the last time that we visited."
"We have met before?" Bell was thunderstruck.
"It was a Christmas party. You were two or three at the time," Pang answered.
"I'm sorry. I don't remember, sir," Bell said a little embarrassed .
"Don't worry about it. Now to business. Would you care for a drink?" Pang walked over to a bar.
"Yes thank you. Coffee with cream and sugar," she said.
"What would you like Paul?" Pang asked
"A soda would be great or juice if you don't have it," Paul said nervously.
While Pang was getting the drinks, Lois leaned over and said softly. "Get ready to take some photos."
"Oh, year. Right. Sorry," He got his camera out and checked his flash bulb. When Pang returned with the drinks he asked if he could get some pictures. Pang acquiesced and Paul took several pictures of him. When he tried to get a picture of Pang speaking with Lane the three guards moved into the background of the picture. Before he said anything Pang said, "It has to be this way Paul. I can't allow myself to be photographed alone with a woman especially a White woman. It would cause unnecessary problems."
After Bell had gotten his shots and returned to his seat, Lois asked. "So that woman," she indicated the other woman in the room. "She is part of your security detail?"
"Yes. I have several women whose job it is to ensure there is an additional female presence in my office anytime there is a woman in here. Call it he woman's touch in my personal security system. Each woman has a long history working in law enforcement. It helps to keep unwanted allegations at bay," Pang said.
"I never would have thought of using a woman as a bodyguard," Paul said.
"I don't expect her to wrestle down a man. She is only to engage a woman assailant and she is to give truthful testimony whether I behave myself or not. She protects me in ways that men can not. So, what are we going to talk about today?" Pang said.
Lois got down to business. "How does it feel to be called 'The Richest Negro in the World?'"
"I'd really prefer that folks didn't focus on that detail. It is just a fact. I'd prefer folks to see how I'm using the money. How do I treat my employees? Do I do just the minimum to make my plants safe or do I go beyond that? What have I done in Kensington, Chinatown, and Mississippi? Am I living a Christian lifestyle? That's what I'd like folks to concentrate on," he said.
"It has come to my attention that you have invested heavily in the infrastructure of several British African colonies. Why?" she asked.
For the first time, Pang looked uncomfortable. "That is kind of confidential. I hope that you don't advertise that."
Lois didn't say anything for a few seconds. After a bit Pang continued, "I suppose you want to know why I am providing some of my resources to the colony of a country at war?"
"Since you asked..." Lois said.
"Since I asked, huh? This is all I'm doing. I am helping some cities and villages develop and construct some roads, sewer systems and electrical power plants. Many Africans now have electricity in their homes for the first time. They don't have an FDR to do a New Deal for them. I suppose someone could build a munitions plant there, but I don't see myself helping with that." Pang said.
"What do you see yourself helping with?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" Pang said.
"Mr Pang, you are not doing this to increase your market share in board games. There is something going on here. I can hold a story if there is a good reason, but you have got to level with me," Lane said.
Pang stared at her, getting her measure. After a full minute, he said, "If you reveal this, people will die. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," she said.
"Can I trust your confidence, Paul?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. Not a word." Bell answered.
"All right, then. One of the reasons that I am so wealthy is that I understand how economics and markets work. I have always been able to read trends. I knew the banks would collapse. that is why I had almost all of my money out and a lot of it turned into gold in my personal safe before the Crash."
"Everything I see tells me that we will be in the war in no more than six months. We can out manufacture almost everything better than the Axis. We do have one weakness. We can't grow rubber. That is an import. I believe that Japan will cut off our access to the Asian supplies of rubber which is our primary source. Our tires. What will we do when they wear out? For want of a nail.
Certain parts of Africa can grow rubber plants, but most of those places are underdeveloped. To this end, I am helping improve the ability of the United States by helping to improve the health and livelihoods of the people who will provide a lot of our rubber. The sanitation will reduce illness of the workers. Electricity and roads will expedite transportation of the rubber to port. After the war, it is my hope that Bible translators will benefit from access to a modern city or two over there. Without the Gospel, democracy can not work. There. that last sentence should be enough to hang me. If I can make a profit over there, fine. If I don't, I look at it as an investment in the future of the world. Now do you see why I don't want it advertised?" Pang said.
"You are spending hundreds of thousands of dollars, a fortune, on a contingency?" Lane asked incredulously.
"Yes," he said. "Now let's spend some time talking about things you can use in your article?" he said.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Excuse me." A younger man, obviously Pang's son, walked in to the room. One of the guards helped him with the door. The younger Pang was walking with crutches. To Lane and Bell's experienced eyes one word came to mind: Polio.
"Your secretary didn't think that you would mind an interruption," the younger Pang said.
"It is a good time. This is my son, Joel. Joel, this is Lois Lane from The Daily Planet and DJ Bell's boy Paul. He is working for the Planet, too."
They rose and he shook their hands. "I see your father from time to time. Nice man," Joel Pang said. "Father, can I borrow you for just a second?"
"Excuse me, please," the older Pang said and both men stepped into a side room for a couple of minutes. When they returned the younger Pang smiled at them and left
"So what would you like to talk about?" Pang asked.
"Let's start with your family," Lane suggested.
They could tell that suggestion pleased Pang.
"My wife, Alice, and I have seven children. My oldest daughter married a doctor and has five little ones. He works in one of the Negro hospitals in Metropolis. I won't say his name or hospital for security reasons. My oldest son is an attorney and an officer in the Army, He tells me that he doesn't see a lot of other Negro or Asian officers. He works in D.C. My second son has my flair for inventions. He has an engineering degree and he is working in one of my research facilities. He is married and his wife just had their first child, a boy. You've met Joel. He has my sense for finance. I have another son and two daughters that are still in school." he answered.
"You are obviously proud of them," Lane commented.
"I am more pleased with the kind of people that they have become. It wasn't easy for them as children. After Lindberg's baby was kidnapped, they had to live with security as a regular part of their lives. That tends to isolate a person from the rest of the world. I didn't want my kids to become just focused on money or themselves. I'm quite pleased with how they have turned out." Pang answered.
"Is that why you built Kensington and Chinatown? That way your children would see you helping others so they would do the same thing?" Bell asked.
Pang chucked. "I never thought of that angle, although I am sure that they have gotten that message. No, I built Kensington and Chinatown for other reasons. Think about it. It's 1930. People are starving in the streets here, in Metropolis. I have millions of dollars. The people who have it the worst here are the Negroes. Chinatown was mostly older immigrants by that time. There were a few families, but not many courtesy of the Chinese Exclusion Act. I bought as much of the real estate as I could. I start hiring locals in Kensington and bringing folks from Mississippi and Tennessee. I don't mean just Chinese, either. Most of my employees had kin that needed work. Some Whites have worked for me for a long time, but not in the South. These days, the Klan is just as likely to lynch a White man as a race traitor as they are to lynch a Black man."
"Both communities have a lot of folks that I brought up to provide jobs to build my factories. Then we started building the private homes and the churches and the schools and the businesses. People followed their kin looking for work, both Negroes and Chinese from the South along with my White employees. Most of my White employees are Americans. One thing that I didn't anticipate happening was the American Indians showing up. It worked out okay, though. I think that Chinatown has turned into a blessing for a lot of them. I didn't plan it, but I'm glad that it happened."
"I understand that there are Jap American kids in your orphanage. Where are they coming from if there are no Jap American parents in Metropolis?" Lois asked.
"New York, Boston, Baltimore, Gotham. They come from the same messes as any other race of kids. Some of their parents are in prison. At least those kids have a chance of going home. Some will live in the orphanage until they are adults. Some were conceived through prostitution or rape, or similar circumstances. Some are racially mixed. Some are foundlings and we have no idea about their background other than they are Asian Americans. Last I heard there were about a hundred kids in the orphanage in Chinatown at the moment. Most of them are under twelve. We have a few teenagers that would love an opportunity to have a part time job at a place like the Planet. Most of them aren't Jap, or perhaps one of the Negro kids at the Kensington orphanage would work out," Pang said casually.
"That would be up to Mr. White," Lois said diplomatically.
"Of course," he answered.
"One last question: how do you feel about Jews and immigrants?"
"I'll hire some immigrants, but I have to be careful how many and where they are from. It can have a bearing on whether or not I will get a government contract or not. I won't hire a Jap, a German or an Eye-talian. Even though they may well be refugees from their own county, it can be used against me and simply put, why take the risk? No Fifth Columns, please. Same for Jap, German or Eye-talian Americans. It can be used against me. As far as Jews go, if they are American born and their parents are American born, I don't have any problems hiring them. If they are foreign born or the parents are, then it depends on where they are from. I am not going to hire a Jew from Poland or Germany or one of the other countries that Germany has conquered for the same reason that I won't hire other immigrants from those countries. I don't want some Gestapo goon approaching an employee and saying, 'you better help us or it will go badly for your loved ones.' I have enough trouble keeping an eye on the Klan for that, I don't need to be watching out for Nazis threatening German American employees, too. From time to time, I will meet one of these immigrants or their American children that I believe is someone that I should help, then I will try and find them a job somewhere else, somewhere that can not be used against me or America. Yes, I asked Clifford to give Ruby a chance. I help who I can, but I can't help everyone. I'm only one man."
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When they returned to the Planet, Bell took his photos to have them developed while Lane went to finish her story. They had arrived just as the evening edition was being put to bed. If he thought that the regular edition of the Planet was intense, he got a new appreciation for intensity.
The articles that Bell and Lane had been working on were slated for the weekend edition. Parts of the weekend edition had been prepared during the week, but even with both the morning and swing shifts working together it was a lot of work. By the time he had knocked off for the evening, Bell was exhausted. He and Jimmy along with four other copy boys walked out together after the others picked up their pay. Paul would have to wait a week before he would see any money. Paul had still had a little that he had saved from the Gazette so he wasn't worried about being broke. He was at the subway station before he realized that he had left his camera in his locker again.
"Don't worry about it. You locked the locker right? It'll be there tomorrow. Besides, next week you probably can go home without taking the scenic route." Jimmy said. They were at the terminal where Jimmy would go to home.
"Yeah, you're right. See you tomorrow and tell your mom that she is invited to dinner on Sunday. My dad offered to give you a lift, and he won't mind giving her one, too," Bell said
"I'll call you later!" Jimmy said as he jumped onto the subway.
Paul double checked the wall map and got on the right train. As he rode a bus through the business section of Chinatown, Paul looked at the various shops and restaurants that were lit up with Christmas decorations. One man at the right time with the right resources and most importantly, with the right heart created his community. Paul had always known that Mr. Pang was the community patron, but to hear why he did what was done just amazed the teenager.
He got off the bus by a newsstand. His mom had told him that morning that he would have to fend for himself tonight. She and Beth were going caroling with some of the church women. He bought a copy of The Kensington Times. After listening to Mr. Pang, he thought it might be good to know a little more about what was going on over there. He had to honestly admit that except for Mrs. Peete, he didn't know any Negroes. From time to time he saw Negroes who worked in Chinatown The Negroes would read it on the way home. He knew that a lot of the Chinese had friendships with folks in Kensington that went back to Mississippi. He didn't have those kinds of friendships. How could he? He wasn't from Mississippi. He wasn't Chinese. No matter how much he loved Chinatown and felt accepted by the community. he wasn't Chinese. He was Anglo-Burmese. He knew that Kensington existed, but in reality, he didn't know what was going on there. Maybe it was time to start paying attention and find out.
He put the paper under his arm and walked down the block past a pool hall, then a parking lot and finally to a Chinese restaurant that specialized in northern Chinese cuisine. He entered the restaurant and saw that it had a moderate crowd. there were two Negro families, a White couple enjoying their meal as well as Asian customers. Paul ordered a noodle and pork dish that he liked.
When he finished eating he went to the counter to pay his bill, but the waitress was busy. The cook, an older man who was one of the refugees, came out. and in his broken English, took care of the transaction. As the till closed, a woman's voice was heard from a nearby table. "Elizabeth Yukiko Yamamoto that is inappropriate! You need to stop that, now!"
The cook's face got red. He reached under the counter and pulled out a crowbar and started towards the table with murder in his eyes. "You Japs go. NOW!" The husband's back was to the man so he had no chance to defend himself or his family. The wife and the children screamed.
Paul didn't think. He was shocked, but he felt detached, like someone else was in his body. While the crowbar was raised to strike the defenseless man, Paul stepped behind him and threw a punch to the man's kidney. The older man screamed and dropped the crowbar which did brush against the seated man's skull, doing far less damage than it would have had the refugee delivered the blow. Using the same trick that he did on Murphy, Bell broke the refugee's nose and shoved him to the ground.
By this time, the intended victim had gotten to his feet and was rubbing his head. The children were crying and the mother was trying to gather them to her. He approached the fallen man. "You tried to kill me," he said and kicked the man in the ribs, hard. An old woman started screaming, (in what Paul assumed was either Chinese or Manchurian,) the refugee's wife. "In front of my kids!" He went to kick the downed man again, as his own wife screamed, "Richard, no!"As he drew his foot back, Paul reached in and shoved the man, who stumbled backwards and fell into a table.
"Enough!" Bell shouted. "You got a shot in and he's down! You want to do this in front of your little kids! He is an old guy who lost everything in Manchuria! He is no longer a threat to you!" Bell said
The old guy started screaming GET OUT! GET OUT AND NO COME BACK!
"Richard, please! Listen to him! Not in front of the children!" his wife begged.
The man took a couple of breaths and said, "Let's get out of here." The relief in his wife was palpable.
"Get out! You too, boy! No come back no more!" the old man cried.
Paul grabbed his paper and waited as the children put on their coats.
As soon as they got outside. the woman grasped both of Paul's hands. "I can NEVER thank you enough for what you just did!" she exclaimed.
"She right. I'd've killed that guy if you hadn't of stopped me." He stuck out his hand. "Richard Yamamoto."
Paul took it. "Paul Bell,"
"This is my wife Laura, our kids Lucy, who is ten, Liz, who is eight, and the twins Archie and Ray who are almost five. I just started this year as a professor at Metropolis University. We were hoping to find a restaurant to eat at. but..." he said.
"I want to go back to L.A." Archie said
"I'm hungry!" Ray said.
"Look, there is a hamburger joint a couple of blocks up that you won't have any problems at. It's called Yep's. The owner and I think all of the employees are Americans," Paul said.
The couple looked at each other. "Richard we need to get something into these kids before it gets too late. Let's try it. I don't want the kids to be terrified of the Chinese." After a second, he nodded.
Turning to Paul, he asked, "Care to join us?"
Paul accepted their invitation and everyone got into the Yamamoto car. As they drove past the restaurant, the owner came out and waved his crowbar at them.
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It was definitely a much friendlier crowd at Yep's. Four tables were occupied along with some patrons at the counter. Except for an American Indian family, the rest were Chinese Americans as Paul expected. The waitress that took their order was the owner's daughter, a girl who had graduated with Paul earlier that year. Mrs. Yamamoto was taken aback with the Southern accents as Lois had been. When she asked about it, Paul just mentioned that there was going to be a big article about Chinatown in the weekend edition of the Planet in which the southern accents would be explained. He knew it because he had helped write it.
"So, you are a journalist?" she asked.
"A photographer and copy boy. It depends on what they need at the time," Paul answered. "I just started with The Daily Planet, but I used to do it for another paper. That is what I've been doing since I graduated last May." he said.
"You've graduated university?" she asked surprised
"No. High school. I'm seventeen," he said.
"You're...you mean I owe my family's life to a..Excuse me," she said and hurried to the ladies room.
As the door closed, Paul said, slightly miffed. "I'm sorry that I'm not twenty-one."
"Paul, please don't be offended. If you hadn't stepped in, that guy," he glanced at the kids, "would have been a problem."
Glancing at the kids, Paul changed the subject. "So what do you do for a living?"
Mr. Yamamoto was a Japanese language instructor at Metropolis University. He and his wife and kids had been born in the Los Angeles area. He had grown up speaking both languages.. Bell told him that except for the refugees, most Chinese Americans in Metropolis didn't speak Chinese which really surprised Mr. Yamamoto.
Mrs. Yamamoto returned to the table. Mr. Yamamoto offered her a cigarette, which she gratefully accepted. He offered one to Paul who declined. Mr. Yamamoto pulled out a lighter and after both he and his wife were lit up, told her what Paul had said about the Chinese Americans in Metropolis.
"That's amazing. Look Paul. I know that I was rude, just now. I hope that you will forgive me. It's.." she started.
"Don't worry about it," Paul said.
She smiled.
"We are definitely moving back to L.A. after this school year is over," Mr. Yamamoto said to the cheers of his children.
"Well, while you're here, you guys going to church anywhere?" Paul asked.
"We've never been to church before," Archie piped up.
"I've seen way too much hypocrisy in churches," Mr. Yamamoto said.
"I know that there is a lot of that in some churches, but not in every church. If you are concerned about not being Chinese, don't be. I'm not Chinese, and I fit in. We have got some Indians and they fit in too," Paul answered
""Do they really wear feathers in their hair like in the movies?" Lucy asked.
"Only when they go to pow wows. That is a kind of an Indian dance party that is kind of formal," he answered. "Most of the times, though they don't. They dress like everybody else. The people at that table over there," he pointed across the room, "are Indians. That's what real Indians look like." He looked back at the parents. "Pastor Deng will not care that you're Jap Americans. Neither would any of the other elders or deacons. They will make sure that you don't have any trouble."
There was an uncomfortable silence. "What?" Paul said
"We really, really hate the word, 'Jap'", Mr. Yamamoto said.
"Almost as much as Colored People hate a certain word that starts with an N," Mrs. Yamamoto added.
Paul's face felt hot. "Um, you're the first Jap ur Japanese American family that I have ever met," Paul said apologetically.
Mrs. Yamamoto smiled, "The fact that you are willing to listen and to learn means a lot to us. It is a credit to you and your parents," she said.
"And my church," he added.
"Okay. And your church," she concurred.
"We'll think about it. Why don't you write down your contact information. Whether we go to your church or not, we would like to meet your family. We haven't met a lot of friendly people here," Mr. Yamamoto said.
After dinner, they gave Paul a ride home. He found the house empty. "Good. I can listen to what I want," he said turning on the radio. Paul tossed the paper and his coat on the sofa and he went to the restroom. He came out and found a mystery to listen to while he perused the Kensington paper. About nine o'clock his mother and sister along with Mrs. Deng came into the house.
Beth took one look at him and said, "You are the luckiest boy alive!" She went into her bedroom and slammed the door.
Paul looked at the women and said, "Huh?"
They looked at each other. His mother walked over to the table and picked up an envelope that Paul hadn't noticed. and handed it to him. It had his name on it. "Mr. Pang sent someone over with this, this afternoon," she said.
Paul opened the envelope. It read, Dear Paul, I have an ability to see potential. You have potential to be a good journalist. That's doesn't mean that is what you will do for the rest of your life. Only God know that, but you were intimidated yet you had the discipline to do your job, I know Miss Lane guided you, but you did the job without fumbling. You asked intelligent and insightful questions. You behaved in a professional manner the entire time. I like to encourage people within whom I see potential. I can't be your best pal, but as the community patron, I can help a little when I feel the help is appropriate. For as long as you work in journalism, put my little gifts to good use. God Bless. Wm. Pang.
He showed the letter to his mother. Mrs. Pang read it over her shoulder. "What gifts?" he asked.
"I take it, you haven't been in your bedroom since you got home," his mother replied.
He bolted to his room and flipped on the light. On his bed was an IBM Model A typewriter, the most advanced typewriter on the market. Next to it was a brand new professional camera complete with an assortment of lenses, flashes and every sort of camera paraphernalia that he could need to take photos and develop them, complete with enough film to last him a long time along with reference books. Though it wasn't the cutting edge, the camera equipment was of several orders of magnitude better than what he had been using. The lenses alone could easily cost him a year's pay. Just to top it off there was a case of typing paper. He couldn't help it. He got choked up. .
"I take it, that is very nice equipment?" his mother asked. He went over and gave her a hug and said, "Oh yeah, more than I could afford in a year."
"I should go," Mrs Deng said and started towards the door.
"No wait! I need to talk to you," Paul said
He spent the next few minutes telling them about his meeting of the Yamamotos. "I think that they want to be around other Asian Americans that won't brain them." he said.
"I know that Clifford and the other elders will run interference for the Yamamotos if they come," Mrs. Deng said.
"So long as nobody calls them Japs, they will definitely be pleased," Paul said as his father and brother came in the house. "Where'd you go?" Paul asked.
"Movie," Connor answered. "Nice camera."
"I can't believe that I got that," Paul said.
As Mrs. Deng left, the telephone rang. It was Jimmy.
"Oh, Mom, Miss Lane said yes, Can we have Jimmy's mom over too? I guess she's a widow," Paul asked a moment later. Mr. Bell took the phone and arranged to pick the Olsen's up after church for dinner. Then Paul told Jimmy, another aspiring photographer, his great news. Jimmy was as impressed as Paul expected him to be.
As he lay in bed that night, he had a hard time getting to sleep. His world was changing so fast. Before he had gone to bed, he broke in his new typewriter by writing a thank you note. He told Beth that she could use the typewriter whenever he wasn't using it, but he didn't want her touching the photography equipment, which her father reinforced and made sure that Connor knew not to touch the photography equipment either.
It was the first time in a while that he went to sleep without a thought of the war in his head.
Historical Notes.
At the time of this story, it had been almost nine years since Charles Curtis had been Vice-President under Herbert Hoover. Everyone, even a teenager like Paul Bell would remember Curtis.
The Firestone Tire Company invested in Liberia because of the rubber issue that I described. I don't know if there was such investment as I described in British Africa during the Second World War or not.
During this era, an employer could legally refuse to hire someone based on race, religion or where they came from. Only under certain strict Federally controlled jobs, such as national defense related employment, or religious based jobs is that legal in the United States anymore.
Pang's paranoia about Fifth Columnists was common at the time.