Memories of the Springtime of Our Life

Ted Hsieh

       We love to use seasons to describe phases of our life’s journey. Winter with its bony branches and noiseless snow scape signals old age, almost the end of the journey of life.

 But the summer of our life is full of quests, gains and losses. The summer days are long and filled with strivings. The summer storms are usually fierce. And the summer heat is often oppressive. “The long, hot summer,” as the expression goes, is indeed long and hot in so many different ways.

 But for us Lighters, our long, hot summer is over. The autumn of our life is here. The heat has cooled. The tempo and tempers have slowed. Quests and conquests are finished. Gains and losses are settled. Love and hurts are far less stirring than before. The blue birds of youth have fled. The nest is empty. The monotony of summer greenery has given way to multihued autumn colors. These autumn colors are mature, warm, timely and full of understanding. The stars above may gleam distant but bright. Our hands may be tired. Our legs may have lost their bounces.  But our hearts are still full and filled with gladness. The Memories of the Springtime of Our Life do cheer us on.

 Many seasons ago, we Lighters had our springtime on that beloved campus by the field once belonged to Ho Man. Spring showers there were gentle on our face. Spring thoughts, wild and colorful, filled our head. Spring breeze was soft to our touch. Spring sound was like music to our ear. Spring moon and spring flowers were pleasant to our eye. Spring uniform, white and fresh, was light on our back. Oh how we missed the white spring uniform and the slim, muscular, six-pack body in it.

 We planted our friendships in the springtime of our life. We harvest them in the autumn. In the springtime of our life, we played together. We sang. We talked. We took trips. And, sometimes, we studied.

 In the autumn of our life, we call. We write. We visit. We reminisce. We comfort each other over our losses. We cheer each other on in our disappointments. We encourage each other during our illness. We talked about those friends who had moved on. We talk about them. We think about them. And we miss them, together.

 Lo Pok-Huen was the first to fall. He got sick in the winter of 1964 and died in the spring of 1965. We cried for him, crying for a life so full of promises and so painfully cut short in the springtime of the year.

 Cheong Tai-Man fell in 1966. Wong Kwok-Kuen and Hsu Hin-Wing followed in 1982 and Fung Shiu-Yin in 1989.

 In 2002, Kao Tin-Wah, Ma Chun-Oi, and Tam Wa-Nam left.

 In 2003, we said our good-byes to Wong Kwong-Wai and Liu Pong-Chow.

 We talk about them. We think about them. We miss them as makers of our memories in the springtime of our life. And, we miss them as friends.

 Friends are friends are friends. Yet they are all different. Some are close friends with whom we share intimate things. Some are activity friends with whom we do things together. Some are historical friends with whom we had once shared a time and a space. We were together, however briefly, at the same time and in the same space and that moment had become historical in our collective memory. Some are re-built friends. As we grow older and become better persons, some of our earlier friends whom we had neglected or distanced returned to make our life richer and fuller. Friends may be different but they are in fact the same. A friend is a friend is a friend. No matter what name we use to call them.

 Liu Pong-Chow and Wong Kwong-Wai were my friends. They were my historical friends in the sense that, when we were together, we had a common task to perform and a common goal to reach. We were there at a scheduled time and in an assigned space. Those moments and the things we accomplished became our common history and defined who we were.

 Once upon a time in the spring of our life, Liu Pong-Chow and I shared many of our moments in the sun. We loved to play basketball. During the three senior high years, we spent many hours together practicing and playing in tournaments both on and off campus. The memory of winning the championship in Pui Ching’s inter-class tournament in the fall semester of 1956 by beating the powerful Class of 1957 still brings chills up and down my spine. At the Lighters’ 40^th Reunion in Toronto in 1999, upon seeing each other for the first time after 40 years, the first words after hand shake that came out of our mouths together was “1956!” Time stood still for historical friends.

 Liu Pong-Chow was a basketball player and a gentleman. He was left-handed and his bank-shots from the left side of the court were deadly.  In 1956, we had three very good shooters in Mah Lai-Ming, Hsu Yau-Hung and Yin Tak-Yan. But Pong-Chow was the most consistent and had a deft way of getting himself open to receive the ball. He so frustrated the opponents that they often hit and push him with brute force. But he never got mad or retaliated. His most frequently used expression in the huddle was always a question. “Why would so and so be so mean?” No complaint. No accusation. Pong-Chow was a real gentleman. Now I feel bad (kind of) that we kept calling this gentleman “Liu Gong” (an urine bowl).

 Pong-Chow was also a real friend. We sat next to each other during the Gala Dinner at Lighters Toronto Reunion. We talked about our playing days the whole time. He remembered that I played center and specialized in rebounding, passing and pushing. Mostly pushing. I guess I was not a very gentlemanly player. Some players from Class of 1957 and Class of 1958 of Pui Ching started calling me “Dirty.” But in Toronto, more than forty years later, Pong-Chow told me that I was only playing hard and did not really deserve that nickname. Thanks, Liu Gong, you were a real pal.

 In Toronto, I also saw Wong Kwong-Wai for the first time since graduation. He was very much the same old Duck Head, busy, sociable and full of ideas. Every time I think of him, I think of him as a knight in a shinning armor and am still amazed about all the things he was able to accomplish in life.

 In the fall of 1957, Pui Ching, for some unknown reason, decided to hold a school-wide speech competition. (It turned out to be only a one-time affair.) Every class in the senior high division of the school was required to send three representatives to give speeches on some assigned topics in front of the whole school during the Morning Chapel. The Lighters had selected three very capable speakers: Duck Head, Bird King and “Ram Horn.” Two days before the event, “Ram Horn” decided that he was too sick to compete. We needed a substitute. I was “drafted” to be that substitute. “Ram Horn’s” speech was only half-done. So Duck Head shared with me one of the two speeches he had prepared. We went through that crisis without any problem. Duck Head and Bird King, in fact, finished one-two in the competition, a real highlight in Lighters’ illustrious history. (Don’t ask me why did Duck Head prepare two speeches when only one would do. I guess he had always been one busy Duck.)

 During the winter break between the fall and spring semester in 1959, the Lighters had another crisis. We had our Big Book to finish. With some very ambitious innovations in editorial and production areas in store, the 1959 Lighters Year Book at that time was a mere blue print. We still had some major writings to do. Among the Faith, Hope, Love and Light classes, we had assigned in each an editor, responsible for producing the individual biographies of the classmates and the history of the class.  

Peter Tong was the editor for the Light class as well as the coordinator of the editors. But he had to migrate with his parents to Maryland and submitted his resignation before the spring semester. Now, that Light class was a very active and brainy group. They tended to follow their own drumbeats and to travel on roads less traveled. While the other three classes had their classrooms on the fourth floor of the New Building, the Light class was exiled to a corner classroom on the third floor. They, however, made it clear that they did not want classmates from the other three classes to visit them. And when they did go up to the fourth floor, they did not go there to visit. They were like the Four Horsemen of Revelation; they brought Pestilence, War, Famine and Death.  

I happened to be the person who had to find a replacement for Peter and to find one soon. Now I might be a fool, but I was not stupid enough to go to the third floor to beg someone to take a position of peace and love and responsibility.  

This was where Wong Kwong-Wai came in. At that time, Duck Head, Lau Siu-Wai, Tsang Hing-Chuen and I were acting in a school play (“Light after the Storm”) and had already been in rehearsal six nights a week for several weeks. My mind was not into the play and was making many mistakes during the rehearsals. During one of the breaks, Duck Head and I were drinking his specially brewed tea that was supposed to sooth his high-class throat that was always protected by a high-class silk scarf. We talked about the Year Book and he mentioned that he would help me out by taking over the editorial work. Now, Duck Head was very busy at the time. Not only was he the leading man in that play, he was also the President of the Lighters and perhaps had a particular girl from the True Light Girls School in his radar screen. But then Duck Head was one busy Duck. No one was worried about his ability to burn his candle at both ends. So he took over that position. We had a great time working together on this assigned task in the spring of ‘59. I still remember with fondness the times we had to ride a bus to Kowloon City and take a transfer to the famed China Press in Hung Ham where the Year Book was being printed. He was a great conversationalist even in those days. 

The last piece of history Duck Head and I shared was the play “Light after the Storm.” Pui Ching decided to make it a huge event. It was used to raise money to build a four-story classroom building to celebrate the 70^th Anniversary. The play ran for two weeks. Each night we had one famous Hong Kong movie star come in as a special guest. That brought a lot of media and public interest. I think the play’s leading lady Tsang Hing-Chuen’s father was associated with the entertainment world and was able to secure the service of these stars. Li Li-Wah, Lam Doi, Yau Man (the “Jade Girl”) and Lam Tsui were all great beauties in the springtime of our life. Duck Head was tall, dark and handsome in his fake bear and brown jacket and tan trousers. He looked every inch a movie star himself in those nights of stars. He was already well on his way to a life of fame and fortune.  

After studying in Kentucky, Duck Head returned to Hong Kong to become the Dean of Students at the Hong Kong Baptist University, the leader of the United Way in HK and later a Vice President of the United Way in their world headquarters in New York City. In between, he was also a CEO for several prominent commercial establishments in this Lighters homeport. After graduation, we would not see each other again until the Toronto Reunion. But I always followed his varied careers with a great deal of admiration.  

In Toronto, he and I were able to meet twice individually for old time sake. I learned that he had some health problem. But, still, he had many ideas and dreams. Before we left, he told me to wait for surprises. A month later, the surprise came. He sent a handwritten letter with two pictures of him with his new wife taken in Shanghai. He was married. He was happy. And less than four years later, he died over some medical complications. His passing was the passing of one of the brightest of Lighter stars. We shall all miss him. 

Friends are friends are friends, no matter what name we used to call them. Tonight I am thinking about my two historical friends. When I was with them, we always had something specific to do: playing basketball, editing a yearbook or doing a play. We had our own circles of social and personal friends. We almost never did anything unofficial together. But I am surprised actually to calculate just how much time we had spent together in those practices, games, and in rehearsals; not counting the time we spent in talking, eating and recovering before, during and after each of those assigned activities. 

In the autumn of our life, we are prone to reminisce the seasons past. Friends and events are increasingly becoming more positive and romantic. Many vague and confused images return, in clearer focus and with fresh perspective. Friendships that were planted in the springtime of our life are now harvestable. Gladly, we harvest them in gratitude and with thanksgiving. Few things in life can excite the old heart like the memories of the springtime of our life. To Liu Gong and Duck Head, my two historical friends, thanks for the memories. And, to Lighters everywhere: Here’s to the Memories of the Springtime of Our Life. 

A Postscript: In one of the attached photographs, you see the handsome leading man with his two friends in front of a 1959 billboard for the play “Light after the Storm” on Pui Ching campus. In 1999, at the Toronto Reunion, three friends tried a similar pose one last time. In a cut-up picture, Liu Pong-Chow was in his usual humble pose even after winning another championship. Two good and dear friends, the late Cheong Tai-man and Lo Pok-Huen, were in the front row.