This is fifth in a series of posts about being in hedgehog mode, as I write a book about my ancestors. In this post, I provide a glimpse of what I’ve been working on for the last year, including writing about my mother’s immigration journey in 1947.

If you missed a post from this series, here they are:

Part 1: I’m in Hedgehog Mode
Part 2: I Didn’t Expect This
Part 3: Gifts From Being In Hedgehog Mode
Part 4: Felt Like I Fell Way Down
———

Jean’s Alien Fiancee visa required her to get married within 90 days of entering the U.S. My parents chose Sunday, August 10, 1947 as the day of their wedding, beating the government’s deadline by over a month.

My mother had just enough time to sew her own wedding dress. The skills that she learned as a teenager, under the watchful eye of a relative who was a professional tailor, came in handy when she wanted to wear fashionable clothes but couldn’t afford to buy them. Her younger sister, Jackie, also called upon Jean’s gift. Many years later, Jean recalled:

“I remember that year that I was in Hong Kong, [Jackie] saw a picture of a fashionable girl in a magazine and asked me to sew a similar dress for her. And for some reason I agreed unhesitatingly, even though I’d never made Western-style dresses before. So I went to buy fabric and began to sew without so much as a pattern to follow. Luckily it fit. It was a pink Western-style dress.”

For her wedding dress, Jean observed what was in style for brides at the time, in the windows of New York’s department stores and in magazines. She took the best of what she saw and combined it with material that she could afford. Jean decided on long lace sleeves, a fitted bodice with an overlay of filmy fabric that gave just enough coverage for the scooped neck, a full skirt, with another overlay of sheer fabric that extended into a train, edged in lace.  Her long veil was topped with a tiara-like headband, and finished with lace at the bottom. She considered every detail, just as a professional tailor would, to give her outfit polish and elegance.

This small project not only produced a wedding dress she felt proud to wear. It gave her something of beauty to focus on, amid her sullen surroundings.

James worked seven days a week, which was typical for a Chinese laundry in the 1940s. Customers expected a quick turnaround. The way to compete with the white-owned laundries was to charge less and work longer hours. Given that he had taken time off for the trip to San Francisco, James felt he needed to work as much as possible, even on his wedding day. Factoring in a subway ride that was over an hour long from the Bronx laundry to Chinatown, and time to shower and change, it felt like a safe bet to schedule the wedding for 11pm.

My parents were married at the First Chinese Presbyterian Church, a 20-minute subway ride north of Chinatown. Reverend K. C. Yeung agreed to the unusual hour and officiated. It was a small wedding, with just a few people attending. James’ best friend, Jimmy, was one of the witnesses. Another witness, Yee S. Lim lived in the same building on Elizabeth Street.

Given that most working people would be in bed on a Sunday evening, I can understand why only the most loyal of friends showed up. There are just a few photos of my parents on their wedding evening, and besides the fact that there are only a few people in the pews, nothing else would indicate anything less than a typical wedding. In one photo, my father is heartily greeting a well-wisher after the wedding, with a big grin on his face. My mother is watching shyly, holding a large bouquet of flowers, wearing her lacy wedding gown and a tiara-like veil. In another photo, while they are at the altar and taking their vows, their hands are laid on top of each other. My father has a serious look, intentionally focusing on the words being spoken. For two young adults starting a new life together, the late hour could have easily been the middle of the afternoon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I return to this quote by filmmaker, Sofia Coppola:
“I think about wanting to make something that only I could make.”

My mother did this with her wedding dress. And now, I am making something that only I can make. That doesn’t make me a Chinese-American writing version of Sofia Coppola. It makes me uniquely Carol Ross. I hope you find this same thrill and satisfaction, no matter what the form of your personal hedgehog.