Comic Strip Clipping

A comic strip clipping found in Parker Huang's wallet.

Janet Huang Chun Memories

Remembering Tenth Uncle

Awakening in the middle of the night,  I looked out the window and saw bright stars over the Maui sky. Immediately my thoughts went to Uncle Parker, realizing that he is now gone…I became sad for several reasons, one of which was that his passing signified the end of an era, one filled with so many difficult pages of China’s struggles during the last century. He, his siblings, and their spouses courageously bridged the gap across the ocean and braved a new culture by sheer determination and hard work. His generation dutifully and steadfastly pursued their aspirations on American soil under difficult circumstances. As we all know, their journeys were, by no means, without major sacrifices. 

Uncle Parker was the tenth of thirteen children. My siblings, Bob, Noeline and I have always addressed him as Tenth Uncle. He was the tallest, the mildest in manner and a dreamer who led a seemingly simple yet highly distinguished life. More than anyone in this scholarly clan, he was the intellectual, the poet, the impossible romantic… the latter attribute being much admired ever since I was a little girl. 

When we returned to our family home in Guangzhou after WWII, I saw him only a few times before he married Auntie Mabel. They soon left for San Francisco. This was around the late forties. Due to the political upheavals in pre-and post-Communist China, there wasn’t much contact between our families after that. He and Auntie Mabel eventually settled in New Haven where he had distinguished himself in the world of academia as a scholar, an educator and a poet, continuing the tradition established by our grandfather, Huang Sung Ling. 

Actually, I didn’t get to know Tenth Uncle until after both my parents have passed away in the late eighties. I started to call on him when I needed counsel. Unlike my Dad who was outgoing but authoritative , or Sixth Uncle who was rigidly intimidating, or Ninth Uncle who was rather reclusive, Uncle Parker was approachable and compassionate. When we talked on the phone,  he was always kind and patient with my 5th grade-level Chinese, he was generous with his time, and he was always engaging and encouraging. He was abreast of everything that was happening in the world, and he was very knowledgeable. 

He had lots of stories to share about our family. He talked about Grandfather whom I knew little about except that he was a super high achiever, formal & severe in his demeanor. Uncle Parker shared much about my parents too. Through him I learned incredible stories about my Dad when he was at the age of my grandchildren today, and of some pretty traumatic experiences during war time in Hong Kong and in China… 

Sometimes he recited his latest poems over the phone, in both English and Chinese, carefully explaining his thoughts behind every word. What I treasure most, however, was his sense of humor which I found refreshing and rare indeed, especially among his contemporaries. Each time after we talked, I would come away feeling lighter and in good spirits; generally a sense of well being would prevail.

I have often thought about the story of the meeting between my father and Uncle Parker when they were reunited in San Francisco after a separation of over 20 years. I was told that when Uncle Parker entered our living room to approach my father, he respectfully knelt in front of his Dai Gor (Eldest Brother) until my father urged him to rise. The remembrance of this encounter never failed to bring tears to my eyes. To think that a full grown man_an accomplished scholar and a highly respected professor_would actually kneel in tribute to his elder sibling in these United States of America, to show his respect… It was a discipline from another world. For better or for worse, this formality will be no more. I salute him for upholding his refine, classic form, for his humility and his meekness which, as Cousin Ben says, was by no means, unmanly in any sense of the word.  

Because of their similarities in temperament, my artist-husband, Douglas would pitch questions to me whenever we found ourselves in a quandary. He would ask, “Now what would Uncle Parker say about this?” Douglas’ admiration for Uncle Parker never failed to move me. We each found his sensitivity endearing, his elegant simplicity inspiring and his integrity honorable. 

I have so much more to say but sadly, it is time to say Goodbye…I simply want to add to the accolades that he has received: ”Thank you Tenth Uncle, for being who you are. I will miss you and I would hope to carry a small portion of your gentle spirit and your infinite wisdom within the depth of my heart. May your creativity and your artistry continue to soar through eternity.”

From Maui, with deepest feelings and utmost respect, 

Janet Huang Chun

January, 2008

Doris Frank-Liu Memories

Ben, I read the Blog and commend you for writing such a wonderful story and expressing it in a most inspiring and beautiful form.  I have such fond memories of playing card games with your father when I was young that I decided to write a poem about it this morning.  It is a family poem but I think those who read it will enjoy it on the Blog, as it expresses a real light-hearted frivolity that none others had ever experienced.  I hope I will be able to read it at the service as well.  It is in Iambic Pentameter style which I have always written all my poems.  Chris has probably already printed out the program, but I will ask permission to say a few words.

Cousin Doris Frank-Liu   

 

Here is the poem:

 

FOND MEMORIES OF UNCLE PARKER

By Doris Frank-Liu

 

When my sister Ellen and I visited Uncle Parker back then

He was teaching at the Army Language School in Monterey to men

 

I remember Salinas was cool and foggy and Alan was three

Nighttimes Uncle Parker taught and played fun card games with Ellen and me

 

There was a real easy game to teach others to play called "The Nose Game"

Uncle Parker told us that the way we were playing was rather tame

 

Since he recalled that some got so excited they'd punch their nose to bleed

We laughed so hard because he would act it out as he noticed the need

 

And to this day whenever I teach that simple card game to my friends

They all ask, "Where in the world did you learn this fun game that beats all trends?"

 

And then I smile and proudly say that it was Uncle Parker who did

Prompting me to act out the players he told of when I was a kid.

Hillhouse Avenue

A historic postcard from 1907 of Hillhouse Avenue, the street Parker Huang's office was on. Charles Dickens once called it the most beautiful street in America.

Robert Oxnam Memories

PARKER PO-FEI HUANG

A REMEMBRANCE 

When I heard of Parker Huang’s passing, my immediate response was a tearful smile.  The tears were heartfelt – he was a remarkable man, who made a deep impact on me as he did on all students, and now he is with us no more.  But the smile was just as deep – he was someone who urged me to do more than study and think, he also prompted me to muse about things Chinese, to find real joy in the process.  It certainly was not rote education, nor just cerebral education, it was cultural and emotional education as well.   

Although I only took one course with Parker Huang – a tutorial in intermediate Chinese back in the summer of 1965 – it was a most unusual experience.  Yes, we went through the texts, and it quickly became apparent that I was not a natural linguist.  I really tried hard, too hard in Parker’s mind, because I ended up making translation an exercise in scanning dictionaries and trying to get the details right.  What I remember best was the way in which he tried to loosen me up, to get me outside the characters and the sentences, to try to see the broader shape of the language, to get a sense of what was being conveyed even if I didn’t get every nuance right. 

“Think of it as a journalist,” he said one time, “it’s a story, you don’t get it all, but it’s a puzzle, and it’s fun to figure it out.”  He then leaned back and told me about China back a couple of decades, before the Communists had gained power, back when Chinese journalists were trying to figure things out in a very confusing period. 

I suddenly realized that Parker was so much more than a language teacher; he was really a remarkably-successful thinker and writer displaced from his original profession by the tumultuous course of  20^th-century Chinese history.   He told me of his own poetry writing and even showed me some samples on various scraps of paper.  One day, during a break from our reading, he smiled and began chanting some ancient poetry, his voice filled with vigor and vibrancy, his student transfixed with wonderment. 

And so, our tutorial proceeded in most unexpected directions, mixing attention to my unsteady efforts in reading intermediate Chinese with his insights and anecdotes about a China that I had never visited (and in 1965, it seemed quite unlikely that an American student would get there in the foreseeable future).  Curiously, I must have seemed like the super-serious Confucian-style student, learning how get beyond the task at hand from a remarkable gentleman who clearly represented the best of traditional China, but also the best of an urbane, cultured modern China.   

One day, when I was really bogged down in a text,  Parker suddenly stood up with a twinkle in his eyes.  “How about doing something new?  Would you like to learn taiji?”   Stunned, I also stood up, and watched him move, smoothly and gracefully, through the first few segments of a taiji exercise, describing each movement as he did it.  I followed him shakily, listening to his words – “slowly now, it’s about balance, about breath, about being centered, about emptying your mind.  If you can find the spirit of the exercise, it’s more important than getting all the little gestures right.” 

Yes, I am tearful that Parker is no longer with us.  But I am smiling as I remember what I learned from him, all that I learned from him.   Our text was in Chinese, but the course was not just about language or even just about China.  It was an education about life and learning, about unleashing the potent force of curiosity.  Parker Po-fei Huang was a man of many parts, but he was, perhaps above all, a great teacher.     
 

Robert Oxnam

January, 2008

John M. Stewart Memories

My sincere condolences to Huang Lao-shi's family on their loss.  I was one of the many USAF language students fortunate to have studied under Professor Huang (1956-1957 and 1959-60) at Yale, and even after more than 50 years have passed I still remember him fondly as a quiet, gentle man with a wonderful sense of humor.  We shared many laughs and good times together in class and I consider myself very lucky to have known him.

 

John M. Stewart
Grand Island, NE

Yvonne Lau Memories

I first had heard of Uncle Po-Fei through my friendship with Alan.  I remember he would joke and say that if he missed his father, he could go to the Cornell language lab and listen to his tapes!  During my undergraduate years at Cornell, I decided to apply coincidentally for the NDFL fellowship for intensive summer language study in Mandarin at Yale.  I didn't know that I would be privileged to be in Huang Laoshi's class.  Although our class kept a grueling schedule, I always looked forward to Huang Laoshi's section because whatever he covered that day, I knew it would be fun.

 

I didn't realize then how lucky I was to have such an inspiring teacher. Ironically, now that I am involved with promoting Chinese as a second language programs, collaborating on K-16 pipeline curricula and professional development, I understand that being in Uncle Po-Fei's classroom was a magical experience.  When he recited his poetry - especially in Cantonese - I felt transformed and somewhat hopeful that even at my low proficiency, I could make sense of his readings.

 

He had a wonderful laugh that infused our classroom with warmth and affection.  We wanted to work hard even during those hot summer days in New Haven where it would have been tempting to relax and take more breaks because we were inspired to match his enthusiasm and prove worthy of his confidence in our abilities. Though the program was not a strict immersion experience, my Chinese improved so much that summer because of his exemplary skills as a teacher.

 

Later on, after a series of events and suspecting that my mother and Auntie Huang were actually roommates back in China, I brought my parents to visit them and witnessed their reunion.  It provided another special bond to Auntie and Uncle Huang as well as an additional window to experience their family warmth and love.

 

Although since they retired out in Orange County, I have not seen them too often, I now feel lucky that I did see and hear Uncle Po-Fei in the last few years.  Was it only a couple of summers ago that we were visiting friends in San Diego and heard that Uncle Po-Fei was going to be celebrating the publication of another book of poetry at a special reading.  Fortunately, I was able to arrange with Alan to visit them at their home in Pasadena and accompany them to the event at a community center.  What a joy to see Auntie and Uncle Huang still in relatively good health, greeting me warmly as if it had only been a short time.

 

When we arrived at the center in El Monte for what I thought would be an intimate gathering of some old friends, it turned into a much larger event with perhaps a crowd of around 75 eager to hear this very special reading.  Again, though my comprehension of literary Chinese was very limited, I enjoyed hearing Uncle Po-Fei and observing his affect on the crowd.  All seemed enthralled by his recitation.  I was in awe of his energy and spirit, and of his passion for the carefully-crafted words and language.

 

I felt very sad when I heard of his passing today, but I know that Alan, Auntie and Ben will be comforted by how Uncle Po-fei touched the lives of many people around him - students, colleagues, family and friends.  He taught me more than Chinese language and text.  He shared his love for life and communication, generously and happily. Though years and miles separated us, I thought of him at special moments when I thought of certain phrases in Chinese and the special teachers in my life. I miss him now and think how lucky I was to have a mentor like him even for a short period of my life.  Thinking of you, Alan, Ben, and Auntie Huang...

 

Fondly,

Yvonne