Henry Ong

There is an Irish saying, that tears shed here speed a soul's progress to heaven.  Last night, so many of us were weeping, but I don't think Henry needed our tears to pass into whatever plane awaits us when we leave this one.

He was one of the good ones.

I met Henry almost 30 years ago, when he was a PR specialist at the LA Public Library and I was doing... what I am still doing.   I had no idea that my sweet funny co-worker was on his way to becoming a world renowned playwright.  He must have been working on Madame Mao's Memories then.  I lost track of him but we reconnected at some point, I think when a play he was asked to write for local deaf students was presented. Chris and I were able to see readings and performances of his work. I loved his adaptation of "Nina Balatka" I remember how happy he was to see us at the original reading of The Blade of Jealousy at UCLA.  We saw it again at a reading to try to get investors and finally, I celebrated my 60th birthday at a full stage production on Opening Night this past June.  Henry was glowing, as he usually was. 

I am glad he got to produce his Magnum Opus, "The Dream of the Red Chamber", doing a Chinese street theater style version of it in a park. He even gave me and Chris a few lines to read to be part of it.  I was still recovering from pneumonia at that point and I was tiring easily, so we only were able to stay for one act.  I really wanted to see more.  It was classic Henry Ong, with great characters and silly little asides, much like Henry himself.   When I first met him, he would walk up to a group of us, look at us and ask if we had seen someone who was standing in the group.  It became a "bit" and he would always act shocked that the person was right there.  He could be so silly.

My first thoughts on hearing of his passing were of his husband, Matthew.  The love between them was palpable.  Word fail me here. 

 Henry, I'm sorry I never got to love Trollope the way you did.  Maybe I should give the old boy another shot.   I am sorry we never got to have that dinner here at Casa Myers.  I make a wicked vegan curry.  This week, I will make it to share and talk about you. You are not really gone; just "hiding behind a pillar"  Your work will continue to be performed and enjoyed.  I love you, Henry Ong.

Writing or lack thereof

Recently, I got a call from my Alma Mater, asking me to donate $100 to the school.  I could do it quarterly, so I said "Why not?"  even in these economic times, I think I can swing $25 every three months.

I got a gracious letter from the Dean of Humanities ( I have a degree in English, as I am fond of pointing out, which means I can quote Chaucer while asking if you would like fries with that.)  She invited me to contact her assistant and arrange a tour and lunch.  Seriously, I would be ashamed to have such attention for a measly $100, which was the point, I suppose.  They would probably get more money out of me if I went so,  no.

In talking to the Poly Sci major who solicited me ( good training if you are going to work in politics, right?)  I talked about what I was involved in at CSUN.  It's been a long time, but she made me remember working on the school literary magazine, then called "Angel's Flight"  She said she had never heard of it. That made me sad, but I looked it up. They still DO one, it's just called something else- the Northridge Review, I think.

As I looked at things regarding Angels' Flight, there was a lot of it I remember differently.  Time smooths things over, I suppose,

The Editor ( who was listed as the founder, but that's just BS) was a woman I disliked. She didn't care for me either, but I was "allowed" to stay and work because they needed bodies.  I had worked on literary magazines in High School and college and had initially hoped to be some kind of editor ( I was good at it, even if I CAN'T edit my own stuff worth a tinker's dam)  She was killed in a car accident the summer between my junior and senior year, which she had prophetically written about in a poem called "Premonition"  She was older than I was and I think she was going for her doctorate.  After her death,  all of her mean girl behavior- and she was for all intents and purposes a mean girl- were swept under the rug.  I believe we dedicated the next edition of the magazine to her, fitting and proper even if she were not a nice person.  In the minds of a few she was a saint and a brilliant poet and her loss was mourned all over the poetry world.   I remain neutral. Maybe because I knew and disliked her, I failed to see that she was this brilliant wordsmith everyone talks about.  I tried to re-read some of her things recently and still feel her work was average, as mine was.  I have to be honest with myself.  I enjoy writing, but poetry is a minuscule market and you have to be dazzlingly brilliant to be a working poet.  It is a craft I enjoy and I may go back to work at it,just for myself.  I love the feeling of finding just the right word to express what I am feeling.  I try to use as few words as I can to convey the emotion.  It's a puzzle, but I enjoy the process.

I am not going to take the Dean up on her gracious offer. It would feel wrong to me. One of these days, I will go back to the Campus and see the changes. I graduated in 1980.  The 1994 earthquake reshaped the school and I wonder if I will miss the old campus or delight in the new ones.  I should visit the Oviatt Library I practically lived there my last semester.  It has been renovated, something I know a bit about.  We'll see.

Labor Day

Some people think of Labor Day as the "end of Summer" holiday.  As a kid, I din't understand the significance of the labor movement.  Some people still don't.

There was a guy on a local page complaining that the trash wasn't going to be picked up on Monday because "they are celebrating their holiday"  I wanted to say something to him, but sometimes it's better to let sleeping dogs lie on those community pages, but here is what I SHOULD have said:

Look, buddy, Labor Day celebrates how the labor movement improved working conditions for ALL of us in this Country.  Labor Unions helped create weekends off, the 8-hour work day, child labor laws, workers compensation, just to name a few.  It helped move forward the idea of a minimum wage- a living wage.

I benefit from my Union job, sure, but everyone benefits from the work those early Labor Unions did to improve working conditions in this country. 

So as the final Cookout of the summer wound to a close in yesterdays sunset, I wonder how many people raised a glass to the struggles of Labor and celebrated to working class on the first Monday in September?