Johnny
I see in the comment on the last post the request for stories from real life. I’ve been in the mood to write such a thing; forgive me if it seems like a shaggy dog story.
My favorite Chinese restaurant here in Ann Arbor, Middle Kingdom, is closed. I think the family retired a few years ago, and the place has sat since, though I guess it will be some kind of chain Greek place now. Ugh! I loved the food, and even though it was a bit pricey, it was worth it. I had a friend who used to live downtown and this would be a Sunday treat for us, always the same meal: Hot and Sour Soup for two, a single large entree and spring rolls.
Look at some of the cool “off menu” dishes they used to have. Just scroll the photos alone!
The guy who ran (owned?) the place was an older heavy set Chinese guy we used to call “Johnny”. because he quit trying to get us to pronounce his Chinese name. In a way he was kind of a Chinese Archie Bunker; no ethnicity, no economic class, or religious faith was spared his wrath. He had a way of grousing about….everything that was harsh, wise, and amusing all at once. I often wished I could have got him to a bar, but he was always wrapped up in family things. That family! Huge, and they all seemed to work in the restaurant. Johnny ran a tight ship; he was always barking at someone about some kitchen matter. But he was cool, good to talk to when business was light, and sharp about what was going on around town. He was one of those guys who grounded you to your town, your time, and your connection to a lot of things. I miss him and the place. It’s funny how it even affects your perception of the immediate area when the place you love is gone.
Two anecdotes to show you what I mean about him.
At Christmas, this was my favorite place to go. Chinese on Christmas! A NYC tradition moved out here. It was a madhouse on Christmas, the place filled with half the atheists and Jews in Ann Arbor. I came with a friend, and was waiting for my meal, with the place going full tilt, and Johnny having brought in every relative he could to work. One of his older sisters was having a hard time understanding a large Jewish family table who were talking too quickly and all at once for her to grasp what was being ordered. Johnny sees her frustration, comes storming across the place, points at me and says loudly “HEY RON! YOU SPEAK JEW?” Yikes! I’m immediately embarrassed, but I get what he asking me for. I go over to the table and just get people to talk one at a time, with me pointing to the written Chinese in the menu for her, which she quickly transcribes onto her order pad. When I’m done with my meal, Johnny won’t let me pay, gives me two thumbs up and a “Merry Christmas!”
The Ann Arbor Art Fair is a loud sweaty mess in the middle of July and the town closes many streets to let 500,000 tourists show up and stroll the many booths. Rather than get the overpriced street food, I decide to go to Middle Kingdom; I can sit in the AC rather than broil on the street. When I walk in for lunch….I’m the only person there! Johnny look like he’s been hit with an axe; “Why do I even bother?” he mutters like a hundred times. After that he goes on an epic rant about town and how cheap everyone is and why he needs to move to Chicago. I finally tell him to relax; people will come in when they get knocked out by the heat, and you know they love your stuff. He doubts every single thing I say; Gloom is his bride. Midway through my meal, people start to trickle in. By the time I’m almost done, the place has nearly filled, and Johnny is racing around flogging the staff. As I go to leave, he points both index fingers at me and says “YOU! I BLAME YOU!”, and gives me a huge grin, the only smile I ever remember seeing him give.
Ambiance 
LouiseM said,
September 14, 2015 at 1:20 pm
YES!!!
LouiseM said,
September 16, 2015 at 1:21 am
Thank you, for a pair of wonderfully told stories from real life that not only bear witness and testify to the value of connection, affirming it to be as powerful as an embrace; they also reveal relationship as a dance with some sweet spins and lifts over the rail.
The food pics are something else, evidence of another dance; plus I, who only knew about The Shaggy Dog from Disney, learned about a story-form, different from what was presented.
If there are more stories, of whatever flavor, waiting or wanting to be told, let ’em fly! These were a treat that brought pictures to mind, as clear as a bell.
LouiseM said,
September 17, 2015 at 4:41 am
I am still cleaning out my bookshelves and was surprised to open an odd book, not a favorite, one that’s been on the shelf for several years untouched, to find something apropos to what I’ve been thinking about and the subject of recent mention.
Bearing Witness
Bernie Glassman, a Zen teacher of Jewish origins, was telling me about a meditation retreat he led at the site of the Auschwitz concentration camp. Hundreds of thousands of Jews, Gypsies, Polish resistance fighters, and other “enemies of the Nazi state” had passed through this concentration camp in Poland on their journey to death. Now, more than five decades later, people from several countries had gathered together at this grim memorial to inhumanity, to bear witness on retreat.
Bernie’s stance at the retreat was that of mindfulness; neither resisting nor judging, just accepting the realities, the feelings and thoughts, as they came and went. He simply watched and listened to people’s reactions. He saw that the Germans felt guilty and the Poles felt helpless in the face of this monument to human cruelty, and he felt compassion for their historic legacies.
“What was it like to hear their stories?” I asked.
“At the beginning you’re very aware of everyone’s differences,” Bernie said. “Some very raw and painful words were said. But you just sit with it and listen to all of it. Eventually everyone feels heard. They start to lighten up, once they feel heard and cared about. Then, after a while, you feel that you’re just bearing witness to all of it: the pain and sorrow, the joys and triumphs. As we all settled into this attitude of just bearing witness, a feeling emerged of a connection between everyone, even through all the differences”. from Emotional Alchemy, by T Bennett-Goleman
OK, I think, that’s three uses of “just” which sounds minimizing, maybe I’m being snowed and none of this is as good as it sounds. So I looked the man up, and he appears on his website to reflect some kind of integrity, enough at least to make a positive difference to some.
mockturtle said,
September 20, 2015 at 11:17 pm
Ron, you are such a gifted writer! When are you going to write that book, dammit?!
Diane Dahli said,
September 21, 2015 at 9:22 am
You are a gifted writer. And yes, it’s time you started that book—they say everyone has one good book (at least) in them! I’ve just started writing again, in a blog, and I’m sorry I was too busy to do it long ago!
LouiseM said,
September 22, 2015 at 2:41 am
When are you going to write that book, dammit?!
This is a wonderful place to start. Keep writing, knowing you already have an audience. Readers are waiting. No piece too short or too long, too intense or too trivial. The sound of the ball hitting the bat, well that’s what happened here, twice–thrice?– in one week. Run those bases, limp, hop, skip, dance, stumble or be carried across by six men with a stretcher.
The time is now. And if it’s not now, well I’ll calm down, hold back the expectations, breath and say, these were some fine stories, and if the stories are that good, there’s something inside the one who wrote them, worth celebrating too! For now, Louise M.
kngfish said,
September 22, 2015 at 5:06 am
LouiseM, what a beautiful thing to say to me….I’m still in the middle of horrible problems, but I PROMISE to finish the novel. It’s ate at me for a long time, and I really, really do want to finish it.