Washing Gold Mountain

Imagine a mountain made of gold:

Would you go there despite having to leave your country, your wife, your children? Would you be willing to undertake the trials and hardships that you knew awaited you?

If you said yes, you’re not alone, because that’s exactly what many people did in the mid-1800s. It was the beginning of the California gold rush, and many Chinese men went to seek their fortune on what they called Gold Mountain. Unfortunately, things didn’t really work out as they planned.

Although welcomed in the beginning, people started to resent the ever-growing numbers of Chinese interlopers into the country. “These people look strange, eat strange food, and have some peculiar habits,” they said.  “Maybe if we pass some very racist  laws and  make really unfair taxes we can get them to go away.”

But one man’s imagined gold thief is another man’s cheap labor and so the transcontinental railroad welcomed them with open arms. Considered to be punctual and hardworking, the railroad was more than happy to replace complaining Irish works with the more docile Chinese. All good things must come to an end, however, and in 1865 they drove the last spike at Promontory Utah. A kodak moment for the railroad, but it left thousands of Chinese unemployed.

Like a tidal wave, the unemployed workers flooded the interior of the country. They took restaurant jobs in the midwest, replaced slaves in the south, and striking workers in the north. Lacking skills, they took any low wage job available to them.

Unfortunately, the economy was taking a downturn at this time and many Americans were vying for the same positions. Competition and animosity grew fierce, leaving only the most unwanted tasks to the Chinese. One of those tasks was laundry. Seen as a woman’s job, competition was low, especially in the rugged west where few women dared to tread. By the 1880s the Chinese had saturated the field and resentment reached its peak. In a final attempt to keep out the Chinese the U.S. government passed the Chinese exclusion act in 1882 which barred the entry of Chinese laborers, skilled and unskilled.

You, Me, and Baby Makes Three

What about family?  It was a lonely existence here in the states for a laundryman, especially if he lived in a rural area far from a large Chinese community. If enough money could be saved, and papers finagled he might bring his wife to live with him. So what would life look like for the wife of a Chinese laundry worker? Well, let’s try to put ourselves in her shoes.

Imagine it’s somewhere around 1900 and you are a young girl of 16. Through arrangement, you marry a man two years older than you. Drought and war have made life difficult in your town, and so your husband decides to try his luck in America. Passage overseas is expensive and accommodations uncertain: you, therefore, must stay in China where you will live under the authority of your in-laws.

Days pass, months pass, years pass. Except for one visit, your only knowledge of your husband comes from his letters. Finally, ten years in a different letter arrives. Instead of the usual talk of weather and health, your husband tells you he’s bringing you to America. You will soon exchange everything you’ve ever known for life on Gold Mountain.

Because of the laws against Chinese laborers, you husband has purchased the identity of a local merchant’s wife.  Included in his letter is a long list of facts that you must memorize thoroughly in order to pass the interrogation that awaits you on the other side. Failure to answer properly can result in a host of problems for you and your husband, including deportation.

The first place you see when you arrive in the United States is the immigration station off the coast of San Francisco known as Angel Island. You’re answers memorized, you’re as ready as you ever will be to face interrogation. Unfortunately, you must wait. The Americans usher you into a large white building with row after row of metal bunks. You will be here for several weeks as the authorities decide the fate of hundreds of Chinese trying to enter the country.

When your turn finally comes the questioning is grueling: Describe your village, what did your bedroom look like, what was the name of the shop on the corner?  How about your maternal grandmother’s name? The name of your husband’s Aunt? You know the answers, but still, your palms sweat and your voice quivers. You hope they don’t notice.

Finally, after “family members” identify you they let you through. When at last you are with your husband you hardly recognize him; he looks tired and worn.  His eyes are baggy from lack of sleep and there are even a few gray hairs making themselves comfortable around his temples. He picks up your bag and you notice blisters and scars covering his hands. You try not to stare, but he sees you looking. “ It’s the constant submersion in hot water,” he tells you.

Everything in America is different; the streets, the buildings, the shops. The people seem especially strange, and when you catch their eyes you see looks of hatred and disgust. Even your own husband seems different from what you remember. Although he has retained many of his Chinese ways, he has adopted much of the American culture as well, making him a strange hybrid of the two.

His store is located in a residential area, a little wooden building with a sign in the window.  Inside there is a long counter where customers are waited on, and behind that is the workspace. He takes you behind a curtain in the back, this cramped little corner is where you will live. It’s not much of a home, a small burner for a stove, a wooden crate with some supplies, and a bed made on a piece of wood. There’s no bathroom, and the air is hot and damp.  Money is tight, and your husband must continue to send some back to his parents. There is nothing extra to spend on luxuries to make this into a home. In the days to come, you will be much too busy to care.

At 4 AM you are up, learning the ways of a laundryman’s wife. Your husband shows you how to sort the dirty laundry as you try not to breathe in the horrid smell of sweat and dirt. He leaves you to finish while he prepares for the day. Boil the water, heat the irons, sort, scrub and scrub some more. Hang to dry, fold, package and repeat, over and over day in and day out.  There’s little time to even stop and eat.

About a year later your first child arrives. Despite sleepless nights taking care of a baby, work continues. The baby begins to crawl and your worries increase. This environment is very hostile towards children, and you’ve heard stories that you’d rather not think about. One eye is on the laundry, but the other must always be on the child, and the division is exhausting. As your baby grows, your living space seems to shrink. Eventually, the child will be old enough to help in the shop, but you will always have to work. You are, and will always be, a laundryman’s wife.

Sources:

https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=true&doc=47

http://immigrationtounitedstates.org/426-chinese-laundries.html

https://journalism.berkeley.edu/projects/oakland/culture/ninagr.html