Chung Foo Wong unexpectedly passed away on August 20, 2021 in his family home in San Francisco, leaving behind his wife Jin Ai (née Zhou), his son Ken, daughters Fannie and Sarah, and his grandson Ryan.
Chung Foo was born in Kaiping County, Guangdong Province, China on January 26, 1940 and was adopted by Huang Fu-Hai and Zhou Zhen-He as a young boy. He went to work soon after, and eventually would come under the employ of a Hong Kong mechanic, taking up the trade in his young adult life, as told through his many stories told to anyone who would listen at the local Hong Kong-style cafe. In 1972, he was sponsored by his adopted older sister to immigrate to the United States and joined the San Francisco YMCA, taking on the Christian name “Paul”. He would return to Hong Kong and Guangdong several times over the next few years in search of his biological family, including in 1979 where he met Jin Ai through a matchmaker, leading to their successive marriage soon after on March 26, 1979. He made his way back to America and was able to secure his wife’s passage on September 26, 1980. They settled in San Francisco’s Chinatown in a small SRO on Kearny street. He took up local work in a variety of roles, including a butcher at a time, but mainly worked as a line cook at Chinatown’s family banquet hall style restaurants, including the once famous “Empress of China” on Grant Avenue. In the year 2000, he was struck by a massive cerebral stroke, resulting in disability on his left side, and after recovery, he chose to retire from Chinatown work life.
Chung Foo was a classic Cantonese record collector, urban hiker and tinkerer with a keen eye for “street treasures”, where he often found stereo speakers and sound systems he would repair and add to his growing surround sound system in our tiny apartment hallway or corner of our living room. He was a creature of habit, often waking up in the early morning and making his way on public transportation to Chinatown, where he would order a weak coffee with lots of sugar, a pineapple bun, and the local Chinese newspaper. On occasion if his children managed to join him early enough on his daily rounds, he would order his favorite beef noodle stew or seared pork chop on rice to share, never failing to make sure his children ate first, simply beaming that he provided for his family. He often spoke of the same stories, as if to keep them alive with every retelling, about his time as a mechanic in Hong Kong, how he once bought a motorcycle and drove it to a pier only to have it confiscated by the police for breaking the law, and never bothered to retrieve it. Chung Foo was seemingly unbreakable, once getting hit by a bicyclist while crossing Pacific Avenue, only to stand up and help the bicyclist (whose bike was broke!). However, over time, as his health began to decline, he ventured out less, but continued to enjoy family gatherings, where he was content to quietly watch from the sidelines and let others shine in the spotlight, caring for and loving his children in his own way.
One of Chung Foo’s greatest joys was his family, especially his grandson, whose laughter and joy always brought a smile to his face and of whom he would constantly inquire about. Never forgetting his love of children, he would shower any child with smiles and laughter, claps and praise, simply exuberant in their presence, a reminder to enjoy the simpler fundamental things: the joy of being surrounded by family you loved and who loved you in turn.