written, pages getting finished.
The first page proofs would come off printers, and I would read a piece of the next day's paper that nobody outside the newsroom had ever seen.
***
When I returned to my desk after lunch, I typed one last swim meet program and then told Jake I'd finished inputting all the schedules he'd given me.
"Nice work," he said. "We're going to be sorry to lose you Monday."
"I'll miss being here," I said. "Though," I quickly added before he got any ideas, "I'm looking forward to doing something that's more hard news." I glanced at the piles of paper on his desk. "What would you like me to do next? I could try another rewrite."
"You could," he said, "but I've got a better idea. Grab your things."
"Where are we going?"
"Safeco Field. I've got an interview with a couple of the players, and I'm taking you with me. Before you leave Sports, I want you to see more than the drudge stuff."
"But a Mariners interview?" I exclaimed. "Just like that? What do I do?"
"Watch, listen, and have fun!"
Which is exactly what I did once I got done pinching myself that I was actually inside the working part of a major-league stadium, sitting across from two of baseball's superstars.
And I learned several things about interviewing. When Jake got one question answered, he didn't just jump right into the next. Instead he waited, and sometimes the wait prompted a longer answer that was a lot more interesting than the first, short one.
I've got to tell Dad,
I thought once, briefly, before I remembered that I couldn't.
But then I realized Dad must have known, anyway, about listening past the time when it was tempting to talk. Maybe that's one of the things he'd have taught me if he hadn't died.
When I thanked Jake back at the
Herald,
I knew he assumed it was for taking me on the interview.
It was, partly, but it was also for having given me a job that week that I'd been able to learn from and finish.
And it was for those moments, watching Jake work, when I'd remembered the side of Dad that I knew to be true.
FAI-YI LI, 1932
Outside, Sucheng is waiting. Noisy vehicles clog streets, ship workers shout, and the chains of huge cranes clang loudly. People in strange clothing, with faces that tell me they will not know our language, hurry by carryingparcels, pulling children, pushing carts, loading trucks.
Sucheng says, "This is not what I expected.
"
"
No," I say as a man bumps my arm and a woman with an expression of dislike steps wide around us.
Confused, I realize I should have looked to this moment. But always, since that night Sucheng and I fled, there was a closer one to be worried
about. "Perhaps," I say uncertainly, "we should find Li Dewei. Perhaps he will tell us what to do.
"
Sucheng and I start to walk away from the docks, and when I see persons not hurrying who look kind, I show them Li Deweis name and say one of the few American words I know,
Please.
Soon I learn another word.
Chinatown.
Sucheng and I go in the direction they point, and eventually, weaving through the new smells of salt air, automobiles, grit, and green forests, I recognize the old cooking smells of charcoal and hot fat.
I see a sign with characters I can read, and then more such signs lining a street where the men look like those I grew up with.
It makes me breathe deeply with relief, though I notice that Sucheng is looking behind us, to the ways we have not taken.
I find Li Dewei when I spot his name on the sign for a hand laundry. Pulling Sucheng into the small shop with me, I tell him I am Wu Fai-yi.
He shrugs. "That means nothing.
"
I explain that Sucheng and I are the ones he said could be his children.
"
On paper only. Why are you here?" he asks.
But his face is not as hard as his words, and he says, "Have you no plans? What did you think to do?
"
Because I cannot say
I did not think,
I answer, "Find work
"
"
Well...
"
My gaze follows his as he looks vaguely about, as though to find a solution to Sucheng and me in
The first page proofs would come off printers, and I would read a piece of the next day's paper that nobody outside the newsroom had ever seen.
***
When I returned to my desk after lunch, I typed one last swim meet program and then told Jake I'd finished inputting all the schedules he'd given me.
"Nice work," he said. "We're going to be sorry to lose you Monday."
"I'll miss being here," I said. "Though," I quickly added before he got any ideas, "I'm looking forward to doing something that's more hard news." I glanced at the piles of paper on his desk. "What would you like me to do next? I could try another rewrite."
"You could," he said, "but I've got a better idea. Grab your things."
"Where are we going?"
"Safeco Field. I've got an interview with a couple of the players, and I'm taking you with me. Before you leave Sports, I want you to see more than the drudge stuff."
"But a Mariners interview?" I exclaimed. "Just like that? What do I do?"
"Watch, listen, and have fun!"
Which is exactly what I did once I got done pinching myself that I was actually inside the working part of a major-league stadium, sitting across from two of baseball's superstars.
And I learned several things about interviewing. When Jake got one question answered, he didn't just jump right into the next. Instead he waited, and sometimes the wait prompted a longer answer that was a lot more interesting than the first, short one.
I've got to tell Dad,
I thought once, briefly, before I remembered that I couldn't.
But then I realized Dad must have known, anyway, about listening past the time when it was tempting to talk. Maybe that's one of the things he'd have taught me if he hadn't died.
When I thanked Jake back at the
Herald,
I knew he assumed it was for taking me on the interview.
It was, partly, but it was also for having given me a job that week that I'd been able to learn from and finish.
And it was for those moments, watching Jake work, when I'd remembered the side of Dad that I knew to be true.
FAI-YI LI, 1932
Outside, Sucheng is waiting. Noisy vehicles clog streets, ship workers shout, and the chains of huge cranes clang loudly. People in strange clothing, with faces that tell me they will not know our language, hurry by carryingparcels, pulling children, pushing carts, loading trucks.
Sucheng says, "This is not what I expected.
"
"
No," I say as a man bumps my arm and a woman with an expression of dislike steps wide around us.
Confused, I realize I should have looked to this moment. But always, since that night Sucheng and I fled, there was a closer one to be worried
about. "Perhaps," I say uncertainly, "we should find Li Dewei. Perhaps he will tell us what to do.
"
Sucheng and I start to walk away from the docks, and when I see persons not hurrying who look kind, I show them Li Deweis name and say one of the few American words I know,
Please.
Soon I learn another word.
Chinatown.
Sucheng and I go in the direction they point, and eventually, weaving through the new smells of salt air, automobiles, grit, and green forests, I recognize the old cooking smells of charcoal and hot fat.
I see a sign with characters I can read, and then more such signs lining a street where the men look like those I grew up with.
It makes me breathe deeply with relief, though I notice that Sucheng is looking behind us, to the ways we have not taken.
I find Li Dewei when I spot his name on the sign for a hand laundry. Pulling Sucheng into the small shop with me, I tell him I am Wu Fai-yi.
He shrugs. "That means nothing.
"
I explain that Sucheng and I are the ones he said could be his children.
"
On paper only. Why are you here?" he asks.
But his face is not as hard as his words, and he says, "Have you no plans? What did you think to do?
"
Because I cannot say
I did not think,
I answer, "Find work
"
"
Well...
"
My gaze follows his as he looks vaguely about, as though to find a solution to Sucheng and me in
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