THE FLUSHING CYCLE excerpts from memoir-monologue plays

Alvin Eng

THE FLUSHING CYCLE and put it somewhere else . . . We’d be a major city. 1. Flush To Flushing Blues And therein lies that ol’ quandary. Let me tell you a story Because we are, where we are; ‘Bout a guy from Flushing So close, yet so far, F-L-U-S-H-I-N-G from the center of the universe . . . Manhat- And his Queens Quandary tan. FFFFlushing Sometimes it seems like the whole world is Flusssshhhhing here reinventing itself. Everybody except for Fluuuussshhhh-ing me. Close your eyes and just say “Fluuuussshhhh- I seem to remain unchanged. ing . . .” Will I ever escape this Queens quandary? Not a pretty picture is it? To make matters worse, Could you imaging someone singing, When I was growing up “I left my heart” . . . in Flushing? We were one of the only Chinese families in or “It don’t mean a thing” . . . If you’re not Flushing from Flush-ing? But now as a grown-up That’s why for years, I’ve been like, I feel like I’m the only Chinese guy in “Hi, I’m from . . . (whisper) Flushing.” Flushing Not just because of the way it sounds, Who does not speak fluent Chinese. but because Flushing is in Queens. One of the five fine boroughs that comprise 2. F.O.B. our City. I’m not ashamed, I admit it. I used to be an But somehow, we’ve gotten third class New F.O.B. No I was never one of those “fresh York City citizenship. We’re behind Brook- off the boat” Chinese guys you see all the lyn, and, of course, time in Flushing now. No, I was a Fat the center of the universe . . . Manhattan. Oriental Boy. Oh yeah, and it was “orien- And that’s not fair. tal” not “Asian” during the pre-politically- Because Queens is the largest borough of correct days of 1972. And being a fat . oriental boy of Chinese persuasion what do And Flushing is the biggest part of Queens. you think they called me in P.S. 214? . . . A So if you lifted Flushing up chunk.

34 ᭿ PAJ 73 (2003), pp. 34–38. © 2003 Alvin Eng

Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/152028103321658300 by guest on 25 September 2021 And being a chunk off the old block outside piece of paper, “Jennifer and her friends of Chinatown in pre-multi-culti NYC, I wouldn’t stop calling me a chink.” When may as well have needed a green card to the mother read the note . . . she apologized enter society. Cause let’s face it, if just for Jennifer’s liberal use of the word “chink.” enough flesh is a love handle, then is too That was the first time a grown-up ever told much flesh a hate handle? Let me take you him he was right. And for the first time, back to those halcyon low-stepping days. that F.O.B. felt just a little L-U-V in N.Y.C. And those were the good old days, to be outside of his laundry. young, yellow, fat, and free in New York A true fable of how one chunk flew over the City. cuckoo’s nest. Once upon a time in a tiny bedroom kingdom called Flushing, there lived an 3. Jocks & Heads, East of Flushing F.O.B. laundryman’s son. Yes, he came from a long line of stereotypes: his parents ran “It doesn’t pay to try the only Chinese hand laundry in the neigh- All the smart boys know why borhood, and in fact, they were one of the That doesn’t mean I didn’t try only Asian families in Flushing at the time. I just never knew why So it was 1972, and he spent his third-grade Maybe cause I’m all alone days nestled neatly in his dreams of wanting And baby, You’re not at home to be as heroic as Willis Reed of the N.Y. Even when I’m home, Knicks and to kiss Jennifer, the cute blonde Big deal, I’m still alone.” girl who sat in front of him in assembly. —, “You Can’t Put Well, those seemingly temporal goals would Your Arm Around A Memory” have some extraordinary obstacles as all P.S. 214 was rough, but Bleeker Junior attempts to talk to Jennifer resulted in High School was a joy—particularly the barely disguised giggling amongst her girl- schoolyard. And the Bleeker schoolyard was friends. Now had all the episodes ended divided into two categories: “the jocks” and that way, nothing out of the ordinary may “the heads.” The jocks were, of course, the have happened. But that’s not entirely what athletes, while the heads . . . let’s just say happened. You see, as more of these epi- they had less athletic pursuits. sodes unraveled, it became clear that the key word in the giggling of Jennifer and her In the 7th grade, I took that long walk friends was “chink,” often alternating with across the schoolyard from the jocks’ side to “fat chink.” Well, things finally reached a the heads’ side. I didn’t want to be Willis point where he simply did not want to hear Reed anymore. I wanted to be ... it anymore. Intending only to silence the and Keith Richards and Mr. Johnny Thun- laughter, or have that key word changed, ders! Lou, Keith, and Johnny! They were the F.O.B. pushed Jennifer’s head. But to like my holy triumvirate of teenage punky everyone’s surprise, she turned around with junky rock ‘n’ roll idols. And during my blood seeping out of her forehead like Flushing High School years, those punky cranberry sauce . . . But it was no Thanks- late 70s, I picked up the guitar, like Lou, giving. The F.O.B. just got hysterical and Keith, and Johnny, and was soon playing ran out of the auditorium! rhythm guitar in inspired, but shall we say, musically-challenged garage bands! Later that hour, he sat crying uncontrolla- bly in front of Jennifer’s mother—in the I started smoking and drinking, but I never Principal’s office. When Jennifer’s mother quite took it to the next level. In short, I finally asked, “Well, what happened to my spent my teenage years as a real “junkie- daughter?” he was still so upset that he wannabe.” I guess you could say I wanted to couldn’t even speak. So he wrote down on a “do the time, but was very afraid of doing

ENG / The Flushing Cycle ᭿ 35

Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/152028103321658300 by guest on 25 September 2021 the crime.” Somehow, I acquainted this not reinvented himself as the outer boroughs’ or being able to take something all the way— “poor man’s” version of Keith Richards. even when it may not have been such a And in certain circles, Johnny was the real good thing to take all the way—as yet deal. The ultimate punk cult anti-hero. But another form of that ol’ Queens quandary. I longed to see his Queens existence, and So even though our bands were awful, how he escaped it. through them and our mutual love of rock ‘n’ roll and the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, I finally Years later, I finally got to see Johnny had a peer group and fit in somewhere. All Thunders’s worlds merge. It was on a cold my clothes were black. All my fingernails Sunday night in April 1991. The funeral were black. And me and Ray Wong were parlor was the definition of that ol’ Queens in the band who didn’t have quandary. On the right aisle you had all of to dye our hair black. Everyone had these the bridge and tunnel punks (myself in- big rooster haircuts and we were cool. Even cluded) who were there to mourn Johnny I was cool. EVERYTHING was cool until I Thunders. But on the other side of the aisle heard the song . . . “.” were the mourners of John Anthony Genzale, the little kid that Johnny Thunders left I shuddered because I thought here I’ve behind when he reinvented himself in the finally reinvented myself, I was no longer center of the universe . . . Manhattan. The that F.O.B. laundryman’s son. I left that guy Genzale mourners all had these dark shad- behind, way behind, on the jocks’ side of the ows around their dark, Italian immigrant schoolyard. How can two little words, “Chi- eyes. Eyes that were bloodshot from crying nese Rocks,” destroy all of that? Of course, “Johnny . . . Johnny . . . Johnny . . . We the fantasy was shattered every night when hardly knew ya.” I’d go back home to the laundry and my mother would just laugh at my black As I started to walk down the aisle towards fingernails and in her broken English mut- Johnny Thunders’s casket, I got to thinking ter, “Batman.” But that was home, where of how people come from all over the world fantasies always die . . . ugly. But how did the to reinvent themselves and become part of reality get mixed up with the fantasy? Who the arts world. But what said they could infiltrate the schoolyard— about those of us who just have to take the the sanctuary of my imagination? #7 train? In many ways it’s a lot harder to reinvent yourself when your past, and ev- When I finally got the courage to actually eryone in it, is just a subway train away. As listen to “Chinese Rocks,” I heard that the I got within eyesight of the casket, I almost song was about heroin. China White heroin. laughed because Johnny Thunders had more And I thought, well maybe this is the poetic color in his face in there than I’d ever seen price I have to pay for being a wannabe him have when he was alive. junkie, someone who wanted to do the time but was very afraid of doing the crime. Face Then it was my turn to pay my last respects. to face one more time with that ol’ Queens Using the only Buddhist gesture my parents quandary. “Chinese Rocks” was recorded by ever taught me, I bowed three times to my The and and dead teenage punky junky idol (bow . . . co-written by and the bow . . . bow). As I turned around to leave, aforementioned Mr. Johnny Thunders. I took one more look at the Johnny Thun- Johnny was not only one of the founders of ders mourners on the right, and at the John that legendary 70s punk band, The New Anthony Genzale mourners on the left and York Dolls, but he was from Queens! In I realized: You can never escape this Queens fact, Johnny was from Bayside—one town quandary. You just have to choose your way east of Flushing! I didn’t see him caught up of giving in . . . and then getting on with it. in any Queens quandary. Johnny Thunders Like Johnny Thunders, I had come home

36 ᭿ PAJ 73

Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/152028103321658300 by guest on 25 September 2021 and made peace with my Queens quandary. me want to walk down Main Street and Unlike Johnny Thunders, I was still alive to hurt somebody. But I’m not gonna take this tell about it. anymore. I’m finally reinventing myself and busting out of Flushing for good! Bye-bye “You’re just a bastard kid Queens quandary! Don’t call me that F.O.B. Then you’ve got no name laundryman’s son anymore! In fact, Alvin Cause you’re living with me doesn’t live here anymore! From now on: Now we’re one and the same And even though they don’t show I’m the Yellow Man in black The scars are so low With the gee-tah on my back And when they go And the opium in my soul They let you know: And my off-white rock ’n’ roll You Can’t Put Your Arm Around I’m the all-American Chinaman A Memory Who goes by Johnny Yen You Can’t Put Your Arm Around I do all the wrong things right A Memory And I could be yours tonight. You Can’t Put Your Arm Around Hi, my name’s Johnny Yen and I’m a Psy- A Memory chological and Political Prisoner of The Don’t try . . . Don’t try.” People’s Republic of Floo-shing. That’s Flush- —Johnny Thunders, “You Can’t Put ing to you Westerners. I was yellow in Your Arm Around A Memory” Flushing, when yellow was still considered red––if you know what I mean. But these 4. Rehab. (Johnny Yen) days out in Floo-shing, yellow means green, Of course during the 90s, Flushing became and I ain’t talking about citizenship, that’s New York’s second Chinatown, and first for damn sure! I am talking about a pros- Koreatown for that matter. The schoolyard perous sea of yellow faces in which I am isn’t just jocks and heads anymore, it’s the drowning! U.N. Everyone calls the 7-train the Orient Hell when Johnny Yen was a young yellow Express and for the first time in my life, outlaw, I had to shoot a white man and everyone in Flushing actually looks like me watch him die just to get some respect—it’s . . . And I couldn’t feel more alienated. This true! Nowadays, these F.O.B.s just get off feeling is most apparent in Chinese restau- the plane at JFK, or those J.F.K.s––ya know, rants in Flushing. There, they’ll tolerate bad “Just From Korea”—get off the plane at Chinese from a white person. They’ll toler- JFK, and they are in, in like Flint, in the ate bad Chinese from a Latino or an Afri- USA. This is the new “J.F.K. Conspiracy.” can-American. But God or Buddha help the Chinese person who doesn’t speak good But that’s why that’s “them” way over there, Chinese—like me! and this is me, way over here. So sure, Johnny Yen’s yellow face may not stick out After they hear me trying to order, they anymore in Floo-shing. But Johnny Yen’s immediately downgrade me and repossess American-born yellow ass still sure as hell my chopsticks and shove a fork in front of doesn’t fit in. So in that sense, Johnny may me . . . and I think, “Wait a minute. This is as well be Charlie, ’cause while I don’t surf, MY hometown . . . partner.” I’ve been here I think I got my gun . . . So I guess I’ll just all my life taking shots for you, and now have to remain . . . we’re here together in the same town and we still don’t have any common ground? That’s I’m the Yellow Man in black not a good thing. Cause this makes me feel With the gee-tah on my back like I’m a stranger in a familiar land . . . like And the opium in my soul an outcast all over again. In fact, this makes And my off-white rock ’n’ roll

ENG / The Flushing Cycle ᭿ 37

Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/152028103321658300 by guest on 25 September 2021 I’m the all-American Chinaman Everyone got along Who goes by Johnny Yen Oh it was “a beautiful thing” I do all the wrong things right We played stickball out on the street And I could be yours tonight. Then we’d pig out, down on Main Street 5. Flush To Flushing Blues (Reprise) The Kosher deli on Sundays Well that was my story Joe’s Pizza on Mondays ‘Bout a guy from Flushing Oh it was “a beautiful thing” F-L-U-S-H-I-N-G Though we were the only Chinese And his Queens Quandary We never felt ill at ease FFFFlushing Even when they made fun of us Flusssshhhhing . . . I still felt like “one of us” FFFFluuuussshhhh-ing Oh it was “a beautiful thing” In many ways, I know I’ve never left home. But then, the neighborhood changed But in many other ways, Even ol’ Main Street got strange I feel like I’ve never even been home . . . The Kosher deli was gone except: Joe’s Pizza moved on FFFFlushing From what was “a beautiful thing” Flusssshhhhing Fluuuussshhhh-ing My new neighbor gets me uptight Flushing. Makes me want to start a fight Ya see, my neighbor’s . . . Chinese But he’s not like me, he’s like . . . ᭿ Chinese! This is not “a beautiful thing” Now Main Street has all Asian signs A BEAUTIFUL THING I feel I’ve been left behind (the fictional Flushing lyric/monologue) Nobody knows my dreams I always liked living in Queens Though everybody looks like me, Everybody here, knew my dreams I wonder: We all sang the same songs Can this still be “a beautiful thing”?

ALVIN ENG, playwright/performer, poet, journalist, screenwriter, and educator, is the editor of the play anthology and oral history Tokens: The NYC Asian American Experience on Stage (Temple University Press/Asian American Writers’ Workshop, 2000). Eng, who was named after the Chipmunk cartoon character, teaches creative writing at Fordham University, the New School University/Parsons School of Design, the Teachers & Writers Collaborative, and elsewhere.

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Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/152028103321658300 by guest on 25 September 2021