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The Adventures Of Eddie Fung

THE ADVENTURES OF EDDIE FUNG

THE ADVENTURES OF EDDIE FUNG

C H I N A T O W N K I D · T E XA S C O W B OY · P R I SO N E R O F W A R

EDITED BY JUDY YUNG

U N I V E R S I T Y O F W A S H I N G T O N P R E S S · S E A T T L E & L O N D O N

The Adventures of Eddie Fung is published with the assistance of a grant from the

naomi b. pascal editor’s endowment, supported through the generosity of

Janet and John Creighton, Patti Knowles, Mary McLellan Williams, and other donors.

Copyright © 2007 by Judy Yung

Printed in the United States of America

Designed by Pamela Canell

13 12 11 10 09 08 5 4 3 2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any

information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

University of Washington Press

P.O. Box 50096, Seattle, WA 98145, U.S.A.

www.washington.edu/uwpress

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Fung, Eddie, 1922–

The adventures of Eddie Fung : Chinatown kid, Texas cowboy, prisoner of war

/ edited by Judy Yung.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

isbn 978-0-295-98754-5 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Fung, Eddie, 1922– 2. Chinese Americans—Biography. 3. Chinatown (San Francisco,

Calif.)—Biography. 4. San Francisco (Calif.)—Biography. 5. Cowboys—Texas—Biography.

6. World War, 1939–1945—Participation, Chinese American. 7. World War, 1939–1945—

Prisoners and prisons, Japanese. 8. Soldiers—United States—Biography. 9. Prisoners of war

—United States—Biography. 10. Prisoners of war—Burma—Biography.

I. Yung, Judy. II. Title.

e184.c5f86 2007 940.54'7252092—dc22 [B] 2007019488

The paper used in this publication is acid-free and 90 percent recycled from at least 50 percent

post-consumer waste. It meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard

for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48–

1984.8A

Cover photo: Eddie lighting a firecracker in Chinatown during the New Year celebration,

1935. Courtesy San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.

FOR LOI S AND ALL MY BUDDIES IN THE LOST BATTALION

C O N T E N T S

P R E F A C E · I X

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S · X V

I N T R O D U C T I O N · X V I I

O N E · G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N · 3

T W O · A C H I N E S E C O W B O Y I N T E X A S · 4 5

T H R E E · A G O O D S O L D I E R · 6 8

F O U R · A P R I S O N E R O F T H E J A P A N E S E · 9 6

F I V E · A P O W S U R V I V O R · 1 3 9

S I X · L E A R N I N G T O L I V E W I T H M Y S E L F · 1 6 3

C H R O N O L O G Y · 2 0 9

N O T E S · 2 1 1

B I B L I O G R A P H Y · 2 1 9

I N D E X · 2 2 3

P R E F A C E

I first met Eddie Fung in the summer of 2002. I was working on my fifthbook, Chinese American Voices: From the Gold Rush to the Present, andI needed a World War II story, preferably one told from the perspec- tive of a Chinese American veteran. I asked Colonel Bill Strobridge, a mil-

itary historian who had conducted a study of Chinese Americans in World

War II, if he could find me someone to interview. He came up with two

possibilities. The first person had fought heroically in the front lines at Nor-

mandy, but he turned out to be a poor storyteller, one who gave short

answers and stuck to the facts. Even though I conducted the interview in

Chinese and did my best to make him feel comfortable, I could not get him

to elaborate on the story or share his feelings on the matter. So I made

arrangements to meet the second possibility, Eddie Fung, hoping that he

would prove to be a more engaging storyteller.

We agreed to do the interview at Colonel Strobridge’s home in San Fran-

cisco. Prior to the interview, I did some background checking on Eddie Fung.

I found out that he was an American-born Chinese who had grown up in

San Francisco Chinatown like me, only he had preceded me by two

decades. I was fifty-six years old, and he had just turned eighty. Colonel

Strobridge also told me that Eddie had the dubious distinction of being

the only Chinese American soldier to be captured by the Japanese during

World War II and that he had worked on the Burma-Siam railroad made

IX

famous by the film Bridge on the River Kwai. Not knowing much about that

history, I made a point of seeing the film before the interview. I was horrified

by the brutal treatment of the prisoners under the Japanese and impressed

by the courage and heroic actions of the POWs in the film. I hoped that

Eddie would be forthcoming with details about how he as a Chinese Amer-

ican had fared and survived under such circumstances. The other inter-

esting thing that I found out about Eddie was that he had run away from

home to become a cowboy when he was sixteen. I was intrigued—a Chi-

nese American cowboy? Although it was the World War II story I needed,

I decided I would start at the beginning with his family history in order to

get a fuller picture of his life and to put his World War II experience into

a larger context.

Having conducted over 400 interviews with Chinese Americans for var-

ious book projects by then, I thought I had allowed plenty of time for his

story—three whole hours. This interview, however, turned out differently.

A solidly built man of short stature—5 feet 3 inches, and 120 pounds, to be

exact—Eddie proved to be a natural storyteller with a fantastic memory

for details, a precise way of expressing himself, a wonderful sense of

humor, and a strong determination to tell the story right. In essence, he is

every oral historian’s dream come true. He also proved to be an unusual

interviewee in that he was both introspective and analytical in his responses.

I soon found out that he had an indirect way of answering my questions,

often recreating conversations and connecting specific incidents from the

past to make his point. Regardless of how long-winded he got, Eddie was

never boring. In fact, he held me spellbound at our first meeting, and before

I knew it, three hours had passed and we had not even gotten to World

War II! Somehow, I got the rest of the story out of him in the next two

hours before I had to leave for my next appointment. He gave me a pile of

books to read about POWs and the Burma-Siam railroad, and I promised

to send him the transcript and edited story for his approval.

It was not until I transcribed his interview that I realized what a gold

mine I had found. I thought, this had to be how historian Theodore Rosen-

garten must have felt when he happened upon Nate Shaw, an illiterate black

sharecropper in Alabama with a story to tell, or how Alex Haley felt when

he was asked to write Malcolm X’s autobiography. They both spent hun-

X · P R E F A C E

dreds of hours interviewing their subjects and countless more writing their

classic oral histories, All God’s Dangers: The Life of Nate Shaw and The Auto-

biography of Malcolm X. I knew instinctively that there was a larger book

to be written, although I did not think at the time that I was the right per-

son to write it. Six months later, after I had completed a draft of his World

War II story for Chinese American Voices, I contacted Eddie and hand-deliv-

ered the transcript and story to him for his approval. At the same time, I

urged him to consider writing his memoirs, but he said with modesty that

his story was not that unique or interesting. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not a

writer.” I continued, however, to press him, and suggested that we do a

longer interview. “If nothing else,” I said, “we could deposit the tapes and

transcript in an archive for the historical record and for the use of other

researchers.” He reluctantly agreed. Retired and a recent widower, he had

the time. For me, the time was right as well, because for the next nine months

I was on sabbatical from my job as professor of American Studies at the

University of California, Santa Cruz. Until then, my research and writing

had primarily focused on Chinese American women. I never thought that

I would be working on a book about a man’s life, but the opportunity was

too good to pass up.

We began meeting on Saturdays in the kitchen of his North Beach flat.

I would set up the tape recorder and come prepared with questions about

a certain period or aspect of his life. The agreement was that we would see

how far we could take his story and that he would be completely open and

honest with me. Although I kept reminding him that he had the right to

refuse to answer any questions that made him feel uncomfortable, he never

did—not even when I asked him about how he lost his virginity. At one

point in our interviews, Eddie said, “You’re the only one who knows the

intimate details of my life. I’ve never even told my wife Lois.” I felt hon-

ored by his complete trust in me and pleased by his willingness to cooper-

ate with me fully. Each session ran for about four hours. I became enthralled

by his story and by his voice. In between our sessions, I would transcribe

the entire interview and come up with follow-up questions for our next

session. One thing for sure, I felt very comfortable with him and looked

forward to each of our weekend sessions.

Into our fifth session together, the unthinkable happened. We were sit-

P R E F A C E · XI

ting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, as usual, and were on the topic

of post-traumatic stress disorder and how Eddie had found a way to deal

with the anger he felt after the war. “The first thing to do is to admit you

have a problem and then what are you going to do about it?” Then he slipped

in, “Just like I would like to come on to you, except that I know that our

age difference—I mean, there’s just no percentage for it. So the only thing

I can do is enjoy your company while you’re here, and that’s it. You under-

stand?” Then, almost in the same breath, he moved on to an incident in

his childhood when his father taught him how to quell his flash temper.

Later, when I listened to the tape and heard what he had tried to tell me, I

felt flattered and troubled at the same time. I did not want to jeopardize

or compromise our professional relationship and the book that was mate-

rializing so well. And there was the age difference—he was old enough to

be my father. After some lengthy telephone conversations in the next few

days, we decided to give in to Cupid’s arrow but continue on with the book

project. Fifty more hours of interviews later, we were married on April Fool’s

Day 2003. We deliberately chose that date because we did not think any of

our family or friends would believe us.

In retrospect, our marriage helped rather than hindered the interview

process and my understanding of how Eddie’s character has been shaped

by his family background and upbringing, his life as a cowboy in Texas,

and his POW experience during World War II. His life story confirms the

wise sayings “We are the sum total of our experiences” and “What does

not break us makes us stronger.” As his wife and (as he calls me) “his

Boswell,” I had immediate access to him and his extensive library collec-

tion on World War II, and I was able to ask him many personal questions

as well as conduct follow-up interviews whenever I wanted. Indeed, I learned

to keep the tape recorder ready and close by in case he came up with any-

thing important and relevant in our daily conversations. In this way, we

completed another twenty-five hours of recorded testimony. I also had

access to his family and relatives, and his POW buddies, all of whom I met

after we were married. However, as I soon discovered, no one really knows

Eddie Fung very well, since he is a very private person. He has been espe-

cially reluctant about speaking of his POW experiences except to other

POWs who share a similar past. As he said, “There is a common bond

XI I · P R E F A C E

between survivors that you cannot get membership into unless you have

paid the initiation fee. This is true of all survivors—they can talk between

and among themselves, but with great reluctance and difficulty to anyone

else.”

As my husband and the subject of the book, Eddie entrusted me with

the writing of his story, but he had the final say over every word in the telling

of that story. I gave him every chapter to review and correct as I wrote it,

and we went over the final revisions together with a fine-tooth comb. Admit-

tedly, I have influenced the outcome of the interview in my choice of ques-

tions and emphasis of focus because of my interest in Chinese American

and women’s history, but I have tried to provide Eddie with ample oppor-

tunities to add subjects or delete anything he did not want included. After

transcribing all the interviews, which amounted to over 1,000 pages of text,

I edited and rearranged selections from his interviews for a smoother read,

while trying to remain faithful to his actual words and way of speaking. At

times I relied on other published accounts and oral history interviews (see

the bibliography) in order to add details or corroborate Eddie’s version of

the story. Ultimately, The Adventures of Eddie Fung is very much a collab-

orative life history project and autobiography of a Chinatown kid, Texas

cowboy, and POW survivor, as told from his memories and in his own

words. Using Rosengarten and Haley as my models and marshalling all my

knowledge, sensitivities, and skills as a Chinese American historian and

writer for this monumental task, my goal has been to do justice to Eddie’s

story as a survivor and to share with readers the many lessons in life that

his story has to offer.

P R E F A C E · XI I I

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

Our deepest gratitude goes to the late Colonel Bill Strobridge, for intro-ducing us to each other, and to Ruthanne Lum McCunn, the Fungfamily, and the Yung family, for their unflagging support and encour- agement from the beginning of our relationship through the end of this

book project.

We wish to also acknowledge the following people for assisting us with

our research. Members of the Lost Battalion and the Fung family who shared

their memories of Eddie’s past with us include the late B. D. Fillmore, Willie

Hoover, George Lawley, the late Paul Leatherwood, Luther Prunty, the late

Otto Schwarz, Jessie Jing, and Raymond and Fair Fung. Ronald Marcello,

director of the Oral History Program at the University of North Texas, pro-

vided us with transcripts of interviews he had conducted with Eddie’s war

buddies and guided us to other important sources of information. Harry

Ogg, librarian at the Midland County Public Library, kindly ran down

answers to our questions regarding the history and culture of Texas. Him

Mark Lai and Hiroshi Fukurai helped us with the Chinese place names and

Japanese phrases. And the interlibrary loan staff at McHenry Library, Uni-

versity of California, Santa Cruz, tracked down every book we asked for.

Our difficult search for photographs to go with Eddie’s story was greatly

facilitated by the resourceful staff at the Bancroft Library, California His-

torical Society, San Francisco Public Library, Southwest Collection Library

XV

of Texas Tech University, and Australian War Memorial. Assistance and

photographs were also provided by Robert Dana Charles, Philip Choy, Bill

Fung, Grace Fung, Raymond and Fair Fung, Rosalie Griggs, Fred Haring,

Herbert and Esther Ho, Ken and Yoshiko Ho, Montgomery Hom, Otto

Kreeft, Amanda Lee, Joy Rasbury McLaughlin, Luther Prunty, and Vivian

Thompson. The maps were drawn by cartographer Ellen McElhinny.

Our heartfelt thanks go to Gavan Daws, for his advice and inspiration;

to the following reviewers, who gave us critical feedback on the manuscript:

Valerie Matsumoto, Ruthanne Lum McCunn, Franklin Ng, Irene Reti, Juli-

ana Rousseau, and Helen Zia for their critical feedback on the manuscript;

and to Naomi Pascal, Kerrie Maynes, and the staff at the University of Wash-

ington Press, for their expertise and assistance in bringing The Adventures

of Eddie Fung to light.

XVI · A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

I N T R O D UC T I O N

T he way Eddie Fung tells his life story, it has been one adventure afteranother, beginning with the time he ran away from home to be a cow-boy to the time he joined the army and became a prisoner of war. At one level, The Adventures of Eddie Fung is a coming-of-age story, of a young

man’s quest to explore life to its fullest and in the process grow into man-

hood. At another level, Eddie’s story offers us valuable insights into China-

town life in the 1920s, the myth and reality of the American cowboy, and

the survival tactics of a POW.

Very little has been written about the experiences of American-born Chi-

nese in the early twentieth century. Only two autobiographies exist: Pardee

Lowe’s Father and Glorious Descendant and Jade Snow Wong’s Fifth Chi-

nese Daughter. Both books were published by major publishing houses at

a time when U.S.-China relations were at their best and little was known

about Chinese Americans.1 The authors go to great lengths to explain Chi-

nese family life and customs to an American audience and at the same time

recount their problems dealing with intergenerational conflict at home and

assimilation into mainstream society. Ultimately, Pardee Lowe and Jade

Snow Wong demonstrate to readers how it is possible to “blend the

conflicting streams of Chinese and American thought” and transcend racial

prejudice without feeling embittered or immobilized. As Wong wrote in

XVI I

the 1989 edition of her book, “Despite prejudice, I was never discouraged

from carrying out my creed; because of prejudice, the effort is ongoing.”2

Eddie Fung tells a distinctly different story of Chinese American life in

the 1920s and 1930s. He does not speak in the voice of a cultural ambassa-

dor, to satisfy the curiosity or assuage the guilt of white America, but from

the retrospective perspective of a wayward son who has come to terms with

his ethnic identity. Eddie has fond memories of his childhood, bathed in

the love and protection of his family and the old bachelor society of China-

town. He recalls how the family and neighbors pulled together during the

Depression and how his immigrant parents taught him to be frugal, self-

reliant, resourceful, and a responsible member of society.

There is, however, also a dark side to living in Chinatown that Eddie

shares with us. Growing up in the shadows of Chinese Exclusion, when

anti-Chinese laws prohibited Chinese immigration and severely restricted

Chinese American life, he resented the ghetto conditions and mentality of

Chinatown. Many of the Chinese were illegal immigrants who had come

to this country posed as “paper sons” of a merchant or U.S. citizen in order

to circumvent the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which barred the further

immigration of Chinese laborers to this country.3 Eddie’s own father

crossed the Canadian border surreptitiously as the “manservant of a Cau-

casian gentleman.” He later found a way to bring his wife and two adopted

sons from China as a “paper wife” and as “paper sons.” Always fearful of

being discovered and deported, his father never explained to him why

Eddie’s older brothers had different surnames from the rest of the family

or why he could not return to Canada or China for a visit. At the time, Eddie

thought this duplicity and secrecy was just the way it was for people in Chi-

natown. Just about everyone lived in overcrowded tenement apartments

and seemed afraid of venturing outside the boundaries of Chinatown. It

was not until Eddie left home for summer camp and work as a live-in house-

boy that he realized other people did not live the same way. They had spa-

cious houses with front yards and backyards. “Okay, people don’t have to

live in Chinatown in cold-water flats,” he reasoned. Certainly, he did not

want to continue living that way, so he began to plan his escape.

Eddie had another reason for wanting to leave home—he resented his

strict upbringing. Like many other second-generation Chinese Americans,

XVI I I · I N T R O D U C T I O N

he was expected to do well in American school and Chinese school, to help

out at home, to be obedient and respectful to his elders, to follow Chinese

customs, and to never bring shame to the family by misbehaving. Yet at

American school, through books and movies, and in his contacts with the

outside world, he was encouraged to be a rugged individualist, to speak

his mind, and to pursue any line of work or lifestyle he pleased. Many Chi-

nese Americans at this time were torn between following the Chinese ways

of their parents and following the American ways of mainstream society.4

Eddie learned to accommodate cultural conflicts as they arose. “You might

say that our generation had split personalities,” he explained. “When we

were inside the house, we were completely Chinese. When we were out-

side the house, we could be either all Chinese or all American or half and

half.” Being the curious and rambunctious kid he was, Eddie could not

always meet his parents’ expectations, nor be satisfied with the restrictions

of Chinatown life. Yearning to explore the wider world and to pursue the

romantic life of a cowboy on horseback, he decided to strike out on his

own and try his luck in Texas. This decision would set Eddie apart from

his Chinese American peers, most of whom remained stuck in Chinatown

until World War II, when racial discrimination lessened and opportuni-

ties opened up for them.

By the time Eddie arrived in Texas in 1938, the Depression was drawing

to a close and the cowboy days of cattle drives and open ranges that he had

dreamed of were long gone. After the railroads came to Texas, getting the

cattle to market became easier. Fewer men were needed to drive the smaller

herds of cattle to the shipping points. Fenced ranching allowed ranchers

to keep track of their cattle and to improve on their breed, but it meant

that cowboys could no longer roam the open range with the cattle. Most

work became seasonal, when cowhands were needed for the spring and fall

roundups and branding. The rest of the year they were put to work main-

taining windmills, repairing fences, and doing farm chores. Instead of the

idyllic life Eddie had imagined, where “all you have to do is ride a horse

and maybe herd a few cows,” it turned out to be nothing but hard work.

Any experienced cowpuncher could have told him, “He [would be] poorly

fed, underpaid, overworked, deprived of sleep, and prone to boredom and

loneliness.”5

I N T R O D U C T I O N · XIX

Considering how small in stature and how inexperienced Eddie was, it

is amazing that anyone hired him. Eddie credits his success in landing a

job to his eagerness to learn and his willingness to accept the low wage of

ten dollars a month. His success also attests to the openness and friendli-

ness of ranchers who were willing to give a young man an opportunity to

prove himself. As Eddie found out, there was less racial discrimination on

the ranch than in town. In 1940, African Americans and Mexicans made

up 15 percent and 12 percent of the population in Texas, respectively. They

each formed about 14 percent of the cowboy population. Although Jim Crow

codes were still strictly enforced, cowboys of color were tolerated on the

ranch as long as they had the skills to do the job.6 In contrast, there were

only 1,785 Asians (Chinese and Japanese Americans) in Texas in 1940,

accounting for less than 1 percent of the population. Most of the Japanese

were rice farmers in the Houston area, while the Chinese operated laun-

dries, cafés, and grocery stores, and lived in segregated communities in El

Paso and San Antonio. Small in number and not considered an economic

threat to the Anglo population, the Chinese occupied a “gray area” in the

black-white racial hierarchy in Texas. They were tolerated and better

treated than African Americans and Mexicans, although in 1937 Anglo com-

petitors did try to get an anti-alien land law passed that would have driven

Chinese grocers out of business. The measure failed, however, due to oppo-

sition from the Chinese community.7

Eddie Fung may well have been the only Chinese cowboy in West Texas

at the time, and as such he was treated more as a novelty than a threat. As

he said, “I was only five feet tall and nonthreatening, so most people took

me to be nothing more than a young adventurer.” The one Chinese stereo-

type that stuck to him, however, was that of the proverbial cook or house-

boy. Eddie was offered that job more than once, but each time he refused,

even though it meant higher wages and easier work. He had come to Texas

to be a cowboy, and by the end of his second year he had proven to him-

self and to others that regardless of ethnicity or size he could do any job

assigned to him.

From the vantage point of a Chinatown kid, Eddie shares with us what

it was like to be a Texas cowboy in the 1930s. His first job at the Scarborough

ranch taught him that cowboys worked hard from sunup to sunset. He had

XX · I N T R O D U C T I O N

to be a jack-of-all-trades—part mechanic, part vet, and part carpenter—

in order to do all the tasks required of him. At his first roundup, Eddie

learned how to flank a calf that was three times his weight. He also came

to appreciate the code of conduct that most Texas cowboys still abide by—

a mixture of rugged individualism, neighborly cooperation, and a strong

sense of honor. “If a man gave you his word, there would be no need for

a contract,” Eddie said. “And if you wanted to be formal about it, you shook

hands—that was ironclad.” Contrary to the image of the uncouth and une-

ducated cowboy he had seen on the movie screen, most of the cowboys he

came to know were gentle, courteous, and knowledgeable, and they were

more than willing to show this greenhorn the tricks of the trade.8 By the

time Eddie was ready to move on to his next adventure, he realized how

much he had grown under their tutelage. What he did not know then was

how this education would help him become a good soldier and survivor

in prison camp.

Most young Texans who joined the National Guard in the 1930s did it

for the pay. Some did it for adventure or to make military service their career.

But as far as Eddie was concerned, “Here’s another place where I can be

around horses—I can join the cavalry!” By the time he got to Lubbock,

Texas, to inquire about joining the army in May of 1940, Italy had seized

Ethiopia, Japan had invaded China, and Germany had swept through most

of Europe. Unbeknownst to Eddie, the United States was heading for war,

and plans were being made to call for the draft and to mobilize the National

Guard. Too young to be admitted into the army without parental consent,

Eddie signed up with the Texas National Guard instead. Although he was

the only Chinese American in his military unit, he never felt out of place

and recalls that he got along fine with all the other men. His size posed more

of a problem than his race or ethnicity. But once he proved that he could

pull his share of the weight and pass basic training, he earned the respect

of his officers and fellow soldiers.

Approximately one million African Americans, 33,000 Japanese Amer-

icans, and 15,000 Chinese Americans served in the U.S. armed forces dur-

ing World War II. Until desegregation in the military was banned by

executive order in 1948, African Americans were segregated into separate

barracks and units and generally assigned menial duties. Because Japanese

I N T R O D U C T I O N · XXI

Americans were considered “enemy aliens” after Japan attacked Pearl Har-

bor, they were only allowed to serve in the Military Intelligence Service

in the Pacific theater or in the all-Japanese 100th Battalion and 442nd Reg-

imental Combat Team in the European theater. In contrast, Chinese Amer-

icans were integrated into all branches of the military, with the exception

of 1,200 men who were assigned to two all-Chinese units in the China-

Burma-India theater.9 With China and the United States at war against

Japan, many Chinese Americans joined out of a strong sense of Chinese

nationalism and American patriotism. Like Eddie, they experienced no

blatant discrimination, and many would agree with Private Charles Leong,

who wrote in 1944, “To G.I. Joe Wong in the army, a ‘Chinaman’s Chance’

means a fair chance, not based on race or creed, but on the stuff of the

man who wears the uniform of the U.S. Army.”10 In truth, Chinese Amer-

icans were caught between the white-over-black paradigm of race rela-

tions in the army. They did not suffer the same bigotry directed at African

Americans, but neither were they fully accepted as equals by their white

counterparts.11

While Eddie was training to be a machine gunner at Camp Bowie, Texas,

war escalated on the two continents. Germany attacked the Balkans and

Russia, and Japan, now a part of the Axis powers, took the French colonies

of Indochina. As negotiations with Japan deteriorated, President Franklin D.

Roosevelt froze all Japanese assets in America, stopped oil supplies to Japan,

and made General Douglas MacArthur commander of the U.S. Army in

the Far East. Paralyzed financially and starved for the raw materials needed

to keep its war machine going, Japan activated its plans to take over Asia.

In November of 1941, Eddie’s battalion was sent to the Philippines as

reinforcements. En route to the Philippines, he recalls, Pearl Harbor was

attacked, and his convoy was diverted to Australia. From there, the 2nd

battalion was sent to Java to help the Netherlands defend its colonial out-

post. They were no match for the Japanese army. Within a few days, the

battle for Java was over, and Eddie became one of 140,000 Allied soldiers

to be captured by the Japanese in the Pacific theater.12 Along with 61,000

American, British, Australian, and Dutch prisoners, Eddie was sent to work

on the Burma-Siam railroad—the largest use of POWs in any single

project in the Pacific war. For the next forty-two months of captivity, the

XXI I · I N T R O D U C T I O N

men would suffer unimaginable brutality, diseases, and starvation in the

POW camps. Those who survived the harrowing ordeal would bear the

physical and mental scars of incarceration for the rest of their lives. Thus

the refrain that is familiar to all of them, “We can forgive, but we can never

forget.”

Many books have been published and films made about the Pacific war,

the experiences of POWs, and the building of the Burma-Siam railroad—

the most well known being Bridge on the River Kwai. The 1957 Oscar-win-

ning movie, however, gives a misleading account of how the bridge was

built and destroyed as well as an erroneous impression of the relationships

between the Japanese military, British commander, and prison labor

force.13 More accurate accounts can be found in Gavan Daws’s Prisoners of

the Japanese: POWs of World War II in the Pacific and Clifford Kinvig’s River

Kwai Railway: The Story of the Burma-Siam Railroad.14 By now, there are

also numerous oral histories and memoirs by POW survivors, many of

whom worked on the “Death Railroad.”15 They each tell a different story

about the life of a POW because no one was alike in their reaction to and

interaction with their captors, nor in the way that they perceived and remem-

bered the same events. Gavan Daws points out in his book, “Nationality

determined the way POWs lived and died, and often whether they lived or

died.”16 As Eddie’s story bears out, personality and ethnicity were deter-

mining factors in the matter. What makes The Adventures of Eddie Fung

different from other first-person accounts is Eddie’s unique perspective and

experiences as the only Chinese American to be captured by the Japanese.

According to Eddie, the first thing that crossed his mind after Allied forces

capitulated to the Japanese on March 8, 1942, was, “My God, what are they

going to do to Foo and me?” Eddie Fung and Frank “Foo” Fujita were the

only two Asian American soldiers to be captured by the Japanese in what

has been termed a war between the “yellow” race and the “white” race.17

The assumption was that both would be immediately spotted by the Japa-

nese, then tortured and killed for betraying the “yellow” race. Foo, whose

father was Japanese and whose mother was a white American, was able to

hide his racial background until his Japanese surname betrayed him in

Nagasaki, where he was sent to work in the shipyards while Eddie was sent

to Burma to work on the railroad. Foo steadfastly refused to denounce the

I N T R O D U C T I O N · XXI I I

United States and participate in propaganda work in Japan, and as a result

he was brutally beaten and assigned to latrine duty.18 As for Eddie, although

he was sometimes beaten because he was Chinese, he was never tortured.

Instead, he found that his Chinese upbringing made it easier for him to

adjust to the meager rice-and-vegetable diet, and to find ways to supple-

ment it with throwaways such as animal organs and fish heads. Even his

limited command of the Chinese language came in handy. It allowed him

to trade with the local Chinese and to help his commanding officer com-

municate in writing with the Japanese engineers. Moreover, the domestic

and scrounging skills he had acquired as a Chinatown kid proved useful in

the camps. For example, Eddie was able to show the cooks how to use a

wok, and the food and medicine he scrounged helped him and others to

survive. In fact, it was while a prisoner of the Japanese that Eddie learned

to appreciate his Chinese background, “I had finally come to terms with

my past, and I was looking forward to going home and telling my mother,

‘Okay, Mom, I understand what you and Pop have been trying to get

through to me—about what it means to be Chinese—and I’m going to try

and live up to it.’”

Ultimately, what kept Eddie alive and what makes his story so unique

and interesting were his curiosity and desire to learn from his adventures

and encounters in life. Even the details of railroad work come alive when

seen through Eddie’s curious eyes—how the Japanese organized the work

crews, how jungles were cleared for the right-of-way, how bridges were built,

how the tracks were laid, and how the men were practically worked to death

during the “speedo” period. To Eddie, “any job is interesting as long as I’m

learning something new.” At the lowest point of his captivity, when he was

hit with dysentery and malaria and down to sixty pounds, Eddie convinced

himself to stay alive for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity: “I

wanted to see what the next day would bring; whether it was good, bad, or

indifferent, I just wanted to know.”

After the war was over, how did Eddie deal with the scars from his excru-

ciating POW experience? In the final chapter of the book, he talks about

going on eating binges, hoarding twenty pounds of coffee at a time, having

nightmares, going without sleep for a whole year, and losing his temper

over trifling matters. Some of his buddies became alcoholics. A few com-

XXIV · I N T R O D U C T I O N

mitted suicide. The V.A. Hospital was of no help, because at the time no

one understood what we now know to be posttraumatic stress disorder and

survivor’s guilt. Even so, Eddie found a way to deal with the problem, and

he managed to turn the negative experience into a positive learning expe-

rience. By the time we get to the end of Eddie’s story, we can discern that

he is finally at peace with himself. Upon reflection he said, “I’ve never regret-

ted the war or the hardships I’ve suffered, because it made me a better man.”

The Adventures of Eddie Fung is an important contribution to our under-

standing of Chinese American life, cowboy culture, and the experiences of

American POWs in World War II. It is also a remarkable chronicle of a

Chinatown boy’s journey to manhood that will leave a lasting impression

on our hearts and minds.

—judy yung

I N T R O D U C T I O N · XXV

THE ADVENTURES OF EDDIE FUNG

O N E · G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N

Pop named me Man Quong, which means “intellectually bright,” so my father had

high expectations of me. Years later, when I visited our ancestral village in China for

the first time, they knew right away who I was, because Pop had sent money back to

celebrate my birth and I was written in the village genealogy book. From all of this,

I suspect that he must have been very disappointed in me as I was growing up. But

unfortunately, I cannot change my nature. I don’t know why I had itchy feet, why I

was born curious, so curious that I had to see what was on the other side of the hill.

M Y F A T H E R , F U N G C H O N G P O O

M y father, Fung Chong Poo, was a wetback—he sneaked in fromCanada. According to people I talked to later, at one time he livedin Chinatown and worked as a kitchen helper in a downtown hotel in Nanaimo. He crossed the border posing as the manservant of a Caucasian

gentleman—that was how he got into the U.S. My guess is that it was in

the late 1890s, when he was in his early twenties. Dad was from Lei Yuen

(Pearl Garden) village in Enping District, Guangdong Province (near Hong

Kong). My mother, Ng Shee, was from Si Ji Yim (Lion’s Loin) village, also

in Enping District. The funny thing about the Enping people, if you meet

a married woman with the surname Fung, the chances are she used to be

a Ng from somewhere around Si Ji Yim. And if you meet a married woman

with the surname Ng, the chances are she was a Fung. You see, most vil-

3

lages in China at this time were inhabited by people with the same surname,

and young people in one village were often arranged in marriage to pros-

pective spouses in nearby villages. We’re so intermarried within that area,

it’s almost incestuous!

I had two older adopted brothers who were born in China, and four older

sisters and a younger brother who were born at home like me. My father,

being a progressive man, chose to use a lady doctor instead of a midwife.

The reason we had two adopted brothers was because after my parents got

married in China and before Pop came over to America, it was thought

that Mom was barren. So since he was going to find his fortune in the West,

he decided to adopt two sons to keep her company in China. But when he

finally got her over here in 1914, one year later, my older sister Mary was

born! How did Pop get his wife and two sons over here when he was ille-

gal? He had a brother in San Francisco who had a wife and three sons in

China. As a merchant, he could have brought them to America, but he never

intended to do so. Instead, he sold the papers to my father. Mom came over

legally as my uncle’s wife, and my oldest adopted brother, Al, came as my

uncle’s ten-year-old son, Ho Li Quong.1 Somehow, Pop knew the Chinese

consul general, and in 1939 the consul fixed it so that Mom and Uncle were

divorced, and Mom and Pop got married. As to my second adopted brother,

Francis, or Pee Wee as we called him, Pop was able to buy immigration papers

for him to come in 1920 as Hom Sin Kay, the nine-year-old son of a native-

born citizen. Both Al and Pee Wee retained their paper names because it

would get too complicated. The consul general could only do so much.

This would create all kinds of problems for us later, like when I went over-

seas in November of 1941 and my mother said, “You stop in Honolulu and

find out how Pee Wee is doing.” At the time he was a seaman on the Matson

lines. We had one day in Honolulu, so I went to the Seamans Union. I was

in uniform, and I said, “I want to find out if my brother is in port.” “What’s

your brother’s name?” I said, “Hom Sin Kay.” He said, “What ship is he on?”

I said, “Lurline.” And he said, “Lurline is not in.” So he said, “Who are you?”

I said, “I’m his brother.” So I pulled out my dog tag. He said, “You’re Fung,

Edward. How can he be your brother when his surname is Hom?” I said, “I

don’t know, but he’s always been my brother.” This “paper son” business—

I just never thought anything of it because it was so common in Chinatown.

4 · C H A P T E R O N E

According to hearsay, Pop was a hell-raiser. When he was a young man,

he wore a pigtail, which was required of all Chinese subjects during the

reign of the Manchus (1644–1911). One day he was running an errand for

his boss and he was impatient. He jumped off the cable car before it stopped

and his queue wound around the stanchion. Basically, he fell under the cable

car—that was how he lost his leg. He learned to be a jeweler and watch-

maker because he had to find some job he could do sitting down. I remem-

ber when I was about eight, he gave me an alarm clock and showed me how

to get started taking it apart. I took it all apart. He said, “Now put it back

together.” I couldn’t do it, and he tried to show me. He said, “It’s perfectly

logical. This has to go in first, then this goes on top of this, and this goes

alongside of it.” It all made sense, but I couldn’t do it. And, theoretically,

the alarm clock is the easiest to repair!

My father was not the kind of man you asked personal questions about.

G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N · 5

FIG. 1 . Studio portrait of the Fung family, 1924. Left to right, front row: Grace, Min-

erva, mother Ng Shee (holding William), father Fung Chong Poo (holding Eddie), Mary,

and Jessie; back row: cousin Tom Fung, Albert, cousin Harry Fung, and cousin Fung

Woi Quong.

If he wanted you to know something, he would let you know. But I could

tell through our little sessions—like the time he taught me how to make a

bow and arrow—that he had many experiences to draw from. One time

in 1937, when we had the coldest winter in many years, he said, “Do you

think this is cold? In Montana I was at a ranch house, and when we threw

a basin of water out the back porch, it would freeze before it hit the ground.

Now that’s cold.” In retrospect, then, you can kind of backtrack and say,

“How did he get into the United States from Canada?” It wasn’t straight

down through Washington and Oregon; he must have taken a roundabout

way, going down through Montana. Another time when I saw the movie

San Francisco, with Clark Gable, Spencer Tracy, and Jeanette MacDonald,

I came home and he asked, “What movie did you see?” And I told him. He

started reminiscing about the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, and how

he had to stay at an encampment in the army presidio designated for Chi-

nese people. He recalled how as soon as the bugler sounded retreat, which

is the time to lower the flag, the horses would know exactly what they were

supposed to do—pull caissons in formation. He said, “Just like the fire

horses when they hear the fire alarm, they know that they have to go. All

they need is the direction from the driver as to where.” So he was telling

me about the army life that he saw as a refugee from the earthquake. Of

course, I later found out that it was an advantage for the Chinese that the

earthquake happened, because with all the birth records destroyed, they

could then claim U.S. citizenship and help bring in a number of fictitious

sons from China.

My father spoke fairly good English and he was a Christian, so I gather

the reason I was named Edward was because of Reverend Edwards, a

Methodist minister who had taught him English. When we were kids, every

Thanksgiving my father would roast a turkey with all the trimmings, and

he would also bake pumpkin pies. Then the whole family would take the

streetcar and troop out to Sixth Avenue, where the Edwards sisters lived

after the minister died. We always had Thanksgiving dinner with the spin-

ster sisters until they went to live in a retirement home. We knew from that

that Pop felt an obligation to Reverend Edwards. And when Chinese incur

an obligation, it’s lifelong—it’s never paid off.

I also learned later from old-timers about how my father made his first

6 · C H A P T E R O N E

$10,000. They said that during World War I, he was buying and salvaging

gunnysacks used for bagging potatoes. If they were in good shape, he would

pay a penny for it. If not, people would give it to him and he would spend

his nights patching them. Everyone thought he was crazy because he

rented a warehouse to store all these bags. He foresaw the scarcity of gun-

nysacks (used for bagging potatoes) after the war—that’s how he made his

first bundle of money, selling gunnysacks. Pop was one of these guys who

in the 1920s could see “strip cities,” all the way from San Francisco to San

Jose. He was always traveling to Vallejo, Walnut Creek, and all sorts of places

outside San Francisco, scouting out business opportunities. But if he made

any money, he would use it to help people, not hoard it.

I think Pop helped at least four kinsmen come to the United States. I

used to ask him why, because we could have used the money ourselves. He

said, “No matter how rough you think you have it here, it’s much worse

than you can imagine in China. So anytime I have a chance to help bring

someone over, I will.” And he said, “I will not deprive you of any food,

shelter, or clothing—you have the basics. All I want to do is give someone

else the opportunity to have the same things.” He used to buy land in China

from my uncle, who wanted the money more than the land, since he had

no intention of ever going back to China. Pop was always helping out his

village. I think they had some bandit problems one time. I remember so

distinctly—Pop and Al were wrapping cartridges of .38–caliber bullets in

toilet paper. Then they hid them in a grindstone before shipping it to China.

I asked Al years later what that was all about, and he said, “We had to smug-

gle these cartridges to the villagers who had guns but could not buy any

ammunition. Bandits were extorting money from the villagers for so-called

protection.” So that was why they needed the bullets—to try and fend off

the bandits.

My father kept a book of the monies that he had lent or expended to

help bring people over from China. Theoretically, there was an agreement

that the person’s family would pay him back if and when they could afford

it. In other words, the debt was on the book. When my father passed away

in 1940, Mom asked Al to try and collect some of the money. It turned out

that people were not as ethical as Pop had thought. Many of them said,

“We’ve already paid the debt back and your father must have forgotten to

G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N · 7

mark it down.” Other people would deny that they were even indebted to

my father. So after a couple of weeks of that, Mom told Al, “Put a notice

in the Chinese papers that the Fungs do not owe anyone, nor are the Fungs

owed by anyone else.” In other words, the slate’s wiped clean. She figured

if anyone was going to honor his debt after the notice, he would still pay

it. And it was at that point that the Fungs got a reputation for being choi

gee lo (wealthy people), because they could afford to write off the debts.

But that wasn’t true—Mom just didn’t want the aggravation.

You might say that my father was progressive in the way that he treated

the girls in the family. Whenever his friends kidded him about having so

many girls, he would say, “My girls are better than any of the sons you have.”

Back in those times, that was high praise because girls didn’t really count

for much. But he was that kind of a person. He didn’t care whether you

were male or female. If you brought pride to him, you were bringing joy

to him. When my sisters graduated from the prestigious Lowell High School

and they wanted to go on to college, my father encouraged them to do so.

All his peers laughed at him, “Why are you letting your girls go to college?

They’re just going to get married and raise families.” He told them that

education was something no one could take away from you. It didn’t mat-

ter if his daughters got married and had families, they could still be edu-

cated. All the girls went to the University of California, Berkeley. Mary went

for optometry in 1938, and upon graduating she opened her own office

at the corner of Sacramento and Grant. Jessie majored in anthropology

and worked as a bookkeeper for Sherwin–Williams Paint Company before

marrying Bill, an electrical engineer, and moving to Bakersfield. Number

three, Minerva—we called her Mints—studied literature at Cal. She met

and married Jim, a Caucasian guy who later became a psychologist. My

parents did not approve; neither did his mother. Back then, they could not

get married in California, so they got married in the state of Washington,

where it was allowed.2 My fourth sister, Grace, never attended college

because she had asthma. Early on, when she was twelve or thirteen, she was

sent to live with a family in Fresno, which would hopefully help her asth-

matic condition.

Although my father was gentle and supportive of his daughters, he was

hard on his sons. Have you ever heard the term sa heng? It’s a rattan whip.

8 · C H A P T E R O N E

That was what Pop used on my younger brother Bill and me whenever we

did something bad—the usual kid stuff, like fighting or sneaking into the-

aters without paying or shoplifting at the dime store. We didn’t have any

toys, so naturally when we were in a variety store and saw all these things,

we would shoplift. Whenever Pop found out about it, he would whip us in

no uncertain terms, saying that he didn’t want this sort of thing happening

again. Anytime he whipped us, we had given him a reason—there was no

question about that. It wasn’t child abuse. He was just trying to get a point

across: there was proper behavior and there was improper behavior.

I would not go so far as to say that my father was a dictator. He often

tried reasoning with me. One time after I had been reported fighting again,

he took me aside and said, “Men reason, animals fight.” Another time he

admonished me by saying that my behavior reflected poorly upon him as

the father, and, by extension, the family name and the clan. He never went

any further than that. He probably decided, if nothing else—even if I were

puzzled by what he had said—maybe I would start thinking about it. I

remember I used to have a flash temper and I would go around slamming

doors in the house. One day my father was home and he saw that I was

mad about something. After about four doors, he said, “Do you feel bet-

ter now?” And I said, “What?” He said, “All that door slamming, what are

you mad about?” And he said, “After you’re done slamming all those doors,

do you feel any better? Has your problem gone away? Whatever you were

angry about, it’s still there, right?” And I knew he was right.

M Y M O T H E R , N G S H E E

If Pop was the head of the household, Mom was the heart of the house. If

we had a scrapped knee or a skinned elbow, we would go to Mom, and she

would kiss it and make it well. If we had a problem that needed solving,

we would go to Pop, although he just basically handed out edicts. Mom

came from a fairly poor background, judging by the fact that she did not

have bound feet.3 As far as I know, Mom’s father was an itinerant herb dealer,

and her brother was physically handicapped, so she had to take care of him

all the time.4 She never talked about herself except in a very peripheral way.

For instance, when Bill and I would come in hot from play and we would

G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N · 9

stick our heads under the faucet to drink cold water, Mom would be hor-

rified, because she had seen cholera in her village. Of course, we told her,

“Mom, this is America. Things like that don’t happen.” Every morning,

she boiled a pot of water, put it in the tea caddy, and that was the water

she drank. It was only when I saw the effects of cholera in the POW camps

that I realized why it had made such a deep impression on her. When the

girls started working and had a little money set aside, they asked my mom,

“Would you like to go back to China for a visit?” She said, “Me go back

there, where there’s no running water and flush toilets? Absolutely not!”

So Mom didn’t have any romantic notions about what she had left. She

was perfectly content, even though we didn’t have much. One of the things

I remember she always said when people were having problems adjusting

to a new environment, she would always say jun sui, meaning “change of

water.” In other words, they had gone to an area where the water was dif-

ferent. I will never forget that, especially later in the camps, where every

drop of water that passed our lips had to be boiled.

My mother was a housewife and she worked as a seamstress at home. She

did very fine hand sewing of tailored suits, where she put in the linings in

the suit coat, the vest, and the pants. And she hand made the buttonholes

and sewed on the buttons. All she got was twenty-five cents a suit. It was con-

sidered a favor by the tailor to even give her that kind of work, because there

were lots of people who would have been glad to have the work. She also

made all our clothes—pants and shirts—on a Singer foot-treadle machine.

When she found out from the sewing ladies that there were such things as

hemmers and buttonhole attachments, she expressed one time that she wished

she could have these attachments. So Pop went down to the Singer sewing

machine display room and looked to see how these things were made. Then

he came back to his shop and with scrap pieces of tin and copper, he tried

to make what Mom wanted. Now these things were for electrical machines,

so he would make it, try it out on Mom’s machine, and if it didn’t work exactly

the way it was supposed to, he would take it back and modify it until he got

it just right. So Mom got all these attachments meant for electrical machines

for her foot-treadle machine, and that made her job a lot easier.

My dad never went to school, but he was self-educated. My mom, on

the other hand, was illiterate in both Chinese and English. I guess with all

10 · C H A P T E R O N E

those kids, she never had time to learn English, even if Pop were willing to

teach her. So when we started learning to speak English, Pop said, “Inside

the house you will speak Cantonese, because it would be disrespectful to

your mother. She would not understand a word you’re saying.” He also

told us that in the company of strangers we should not speak Chinese

because, regardless of what we were saying, they might take it the wrong

way. When Mom wanted to go shopping, like at the Emporium, she would

come to Commodore Stockton School and ask for me. The principal would

know why she was coming. I would take her wherever she wanted to go

and help her carry the packages. Then, of course, she always bargained.

My sisters would tell her, “If the Emporium says it’s nineteen cents a yard,

you can’t bargain.” She might buy ten yards and she would say, “Ask the

salesgirl if it would be cheaper.” So I said, “Mom, they won’t.” She said,

“Ask them anyway.” I loved my mom dearly, so I would always ask. And

the salesgirl would inevitably say, “No, it’s not our policy.” I would tell Mom.

Then she was happy that I had asked. She couldn’t make change, so she

would hold out the money in her hand. She was never cheated, as far as I

could see. We were never embarrassed by what my mom did because we

realized that there was something in her background that made bargain-

ing a part of her character. I remember her saying that in China she saw

meat for sure once a year, and that was at New Year’s, and maybe on her

birthday. None of us, even living as we did in Chinatown, could quite pic-

ture that, because we always had food on the table.

My fondest memory of my mom has nothing to do with her working

and slaving her fingers to the bone. My oldest brother’s wife and Mom both

had long hair, and we’re talking about as far down as to the waist if it’s hang-

ing free. I remember Ah So (Auntie) and Mom would sit sort of side by

side and they would groom each other’s hair. Then, of course, they would

braid it and wear it in a gai (bun). Mom had enough hair that she had to

have two buns. Back in those days, we didn’t even have shampoo. Mom

used Chinese soap to wash her hair and pow fah (paste made from wood

shavings) to dress it. Then I think it was around 1933 or ’34 when the girls

talked Mom into cutting off her hair. I know that for a lady it is a lot of

weight on her scalp, and the care of the bobbed hair is a lot easier, but I

sure missed that long hair.

G R O W I N G U P I N C H I N A T O W N · 11

My other fond memory of my mother would be her cooking. Mom was

a good cook. I don’t know where she got the training or how she learned

it, but whenever relatives from Stockton came to town, they would hand

Mom fifty dollars and all they wanted was for Mom to cook her special-

ties. And we all got to be participants in this feast—we were all going to

eat. Now, her specialties were always bird’s-nest or shark-fin soup—

depending on which one the relative wanted: fried squab; West Lake duck;

fried prawns; a dish of sea cucumber, abalone, and mushrooms; steamed

chicken; steamed fish; and a vegetable dish.