Mourning the Loss of a Dear Friend
Tuesday, March 13th, 2012The last time I talked with Jay Chen, founder and publisher of Asian Fortune, a monthly newspaper based in the Washington D.C. area, was December 2011. He said he might attend the Detroit Auto Show, and if so, would swing by Chicago. We talked about getting together. He didn’t come, and shortly before the Chinese New Year, we exchanged a couple of emails, wishing each other a happy Year of the Dragon.
I was so shocked and saddened to see the frontline news announcing his passing when I opened the latest issue of Asian Fortune today. Jay had been sending me a copy of his monthly newspaper ever since we met in 2009, and I had told him more than once that Asian Fortune was the only newspaper I read from cover to cover. I could still hear his hearty laughter coming through the phone line.
Jay wrote to me after my book publicist sent him a press release on the publication of Mulberry Child back in 2008. Not only he published the release in his paper, but also assigned a freelance reporter to interview me and published a featured story soon after. We met in January 2009 when he made a stop in Chicago after attending the auto show in Detroit. We had dinner in Chinatown and shared our growing up experiences in China. I gave him a copy of my book when we parted. He accepted the book, but told me politely that he would not read any book about the Cultural Revolution.
He called me two days later, telling me a snowstorm got him stuck on his way back to Washington D.C. in a small hotel in the middle of no where. Having nothing else to do or read, he opened my book.
“I couldn’t put it down,” he said in his booming voice. “I cried,” he added after a pause.
Jay was ten years older than me and lived through the Cultural Revolution, experiencing and remembering a lot more about the absurdities of the time than I do. His comments meant a great deal to me.
We became friends afterward. He introduced me to several Asian organizations and a few of his friends. He was genuinely happy that I wrote the book and wanted me to share my story with more people.
In May of 2010 when I gave a commencement speech at Loyola University Chicago, he congratulated me and released a cover story on my speech written by Jing Zhao, a freelance writer and friend.
“How many copied would like to have?” he called me after the release of the coverage in his paper in June.
“How about 50?” I asked timidly, thinking that might be too many.
“I’ll run some extra and send you 500,” he said without hesitation.
True to his word, 500 copies of the June issue came in the mail in 4 large boxes! I was very touched by his generosity.
We talked over the phone from time to time, or exchanged a few brief messages here and there. He told me he went to China for a month, following a Buddhist master and learning to do meditation. He said he liked taking long walks and kayaking by himself. He was tall for a Chinese, and I often imagined he must look great in his kayaking gears.
I was expecting to see him in Chicago or Washington D. C. sometime soon. At 61, he passed away prematurely, “the result of a brain aneurysm”. I couldn’t make sense of it and couldn’t believe it was true.
I read all the coverage on his passing and his funeral in the paper and online, absorbing all the praises people said about him, which resonated well with my feelings and impression of him—a generous, friendly visionary and a key player in the Asian community.
I’ll always remember and miss him.























