08/10/07
America has come to be known as the land of opportunity. In the past it has been a land to which immigrants from all over the world could journey seeking fame and fortune. It was once thought the streets of America were paved with gold, and that anyone who worked hard enough, and stayed out of trouble could reach for the stars. The stories abound of successes beyond the wildest dreams of most of those who sought them, and I am sure there are those who, to this day, yearn to come to our shores for this very reason. I came across a story just yesterday that could have been one of these incredible success stories, but it wasn’t. I would like to relate that sad story to you now.
Yesterday I went out to run some errands and decided to treat myself to lunch while I was out. Since I am somewhat unfamiliar with the area where I now live, I decided to bypass the usual fast food places and set out to do some exploring. That was how and why I stumbled across a local Chinese restaurant. I love Chinese food. I truly feel it is un-American to not like Chinese food. So, I went inside for a healthy dose of MSG with a fortune cookie chaser. What I found was astounding. The usual Chinese décor, I am sure most of you are aware, consists of some pretty cheesy oriental appearing wallpaper (red and gold are mandatory) with the run-of-the-mill dragons and Buddha’s arranged for effect throughout. This place was completely different. It was like no Chinese (or any other) restaurant I had ever seen. The décor was decidedly Western in flavor, even if the food wasn’t. Even the smiling Buddha by the cash register had on a cowboy hat. It was fascinating. The walls were covered with old black and white 8 x 10 photos of strange looking western movie scenes and even stranger old cowboy movie posters. I say “strange” because all the characters in the pictures, and writing on the posters, were Chinese. It was as if all my old cowboy heroes had suddenly taken on a decidedly Asian appearance. I found myself walking around staring at the walls and imagining what those old movies must have been like. Luckily my strange behavior went unnoticed since I was the only customer in the place. But, I only went unnoticed for a short time. Eventually, I was brought back to present day reality (such as it is) by an old gentleman who asked if I wanted to order something to eat. He was not pushy; he was just being a good host. I found my way to a booth and perused a menu while continuing to steal glances at the pictures on the wall. I gave him my order (#3 with a side order of an egg roll) and he hurried off to the kitchen. I was so absorbed in my surroundings I didn’t even notice when he returned. “You rike?”…” he asked. “No, I’m Dennis” I replied. The confused look on his face let me know I had mistakenly misunderstood him. He had wanted to know if I “liked” what I was staring at on the walls. He smiled at me and said “You”. ”Dennis” I said again, thinking his age may have made him a bit hard of hearing. He replied once again, “You” and I realized he meant HIS name was “You” or “Yu” in the Asian spelling. Having established our separate identities we both smiled and Mr. Yu began to describe some of the scenes in the pictures as if he had been there. That was when I realized he HAD been there. Upon closer inspection I recognized a much younger Mr. Yu in almost all of the pictures. I asked him to sit with me, which he gladly did, and he began a story I couldn’t have made up if I had tried. It seems my newfound friend was once upon a time a major film star in his native China. He was actually the Chinese equivalent of our Roy Rogers. He was beloved by his countrymen, young and old alike. He even had his own version of Roy’s horse, which he had named Fu, the Chinese word for “Trigger”, in honor of its American counterpart. He took me around the entire restaurant pointing at various pictures and recounting the story of his glory days as a Chinese cowboy (in the same vein as Italian “Spaghetti Westerns” this film genre eventually became known as “Chop Suey Westerns”). I could tell he was enjoying telling me about this as much as I was enjoying hearing about it. I think he could tell how much fun I was having and how truly interested in his story I was (I do, after all consider myself a writer and this was a fascinating story). Then, with a twinkle in his deep brown eyes, he motioned for me to follow him. Parting the bead curtain he led me back into the kitchen, past the guy who was finishing up my #3 special with egg roll, and into a storeroom. Turning on the one bare lightbulb, he stepped aside. There on a life-size mannequin was his old western costume, preserved perfectly. He had obviously taken great care with it since there wasn’t the slightest bit of dust or fading. He, slowly and almost reverently, took the white (of course) hat from atop the mannequin and placed it upon his head. Instantly the years melted from his face and he was magically transformed into the cowboy hero he had once been. He slid one of the highly polished, nickel plated Colt .45 revolvers from its well oiled holster, and smiled as his gnarled, wrinkled old hand began to spin it in ways that denoted countless hours of dedicated and loving practice. He was Roy Rogers again, and I was suddenly 8 years old and one of his adoring fans.
This reverie continued until I asked the fateful question, “So, what are you doing here in America?” Suddenly his eyes grew dark and old again. The smile left his face, and the aged stoop returned to his shoulders. That was when he told me the rest of the story. It seems a Hollywood movie producer had vacationed in China and while there had taken notice of Mr. Yu’s popularity. The producer contacted Mr. Yu’s agent and worked out a deal for him to come to America, the land of opportunity (remember?), and further his film career with American audiences. They all knew this would anger, and alienate, the people of his homeland by, in essence, abandoning them, but the American producer promised them that they would make millions (both dollars and fans). When Mr. Yu came to America it was about the same time Roy Rogers had begun promoting his once famous fried chicken franchise restaurants. The restaurants were becoming very popular, and were making Roy Rogers all the more popular (and wealthy). Mr. Yu was advised that it might be a good idea to also start a chain of restaurants. After all, ripping off ideas from others in order to make money was the American way, wasn’t it? It was decided that Mr. Yu’s restaurants should be something entirely new and different than any that had come before. They would be restaurants with a Western, cowboy motif that served Chinese food. All went well until a name for the restaurants was to be chosen. The American producer wanted to name them something like, “The Oriental Cowboy” or “Far Eastern Western”, but Mr. Yu wanted his name on the restaurants (just like Roy Rogers), and he also demanded that his horse be included in the name, too. Alas, it proved to be a fatefully fatal mistake when it was decided to name the restaurants “Fu Yu, and the Horse Yu Rode In On”.
For some unknown reason the name never caught on.
Needless to say, Mr. Yu’s career never caught on either. It was hard to swallow the #3 special with egg roll because of the large lump in my throat. To watch this wonderful little man become old and bent again just from the weight of the memory of that story was almost more than I could bear. I forced myself to finish my lunch and leave before the emotion overcame me. I want to go back and visit Mr. Yu again and hear more stories of his younger days. But, I’m not sure either of us can handle what we know to be the final outcome.