Old Missoula

A Threnody for Yum[1]

Our distinguished yellow citizen, Yum Ku Ma Tai, is dead. Incidentally it may be mentioned that he is buried. Weep for Yum. Mourn for Ku. Lament for Ma. Grieve for Tai.

Thou hast gone, thou Oriental,

And no one cares a continental

can be said of some of thy countrymen, but not of thee, thou paragon of Chinese virtue and receptacle of hop. In thy native kingdom thou was a magnate; in Missoula nothing but a Chinaman – and a Hiji. Thou was mild and lovely, gentle as the breeze which lingers over an apple orchard in full bloom – or a back alley. Thy bounty was large. It should have been, for thou didst not do the collecting for the Six companies of China, which have been recognized by the president of the United States as all powerful? Always thou hadst money in thy sock; if not in thy sock somewhere about thy person. Thy kindred loved thee and thy cousins numerous mourn thy untimely taking off. Aged 58. Weep some more for Yum and mourn a few mourns for Ku. Beautiful (fair to middling) in life, in death thou wast not divided, if the hog that attended thy funeral wast. By friendly hands thy dying eyes were closed, by friendly hands thy dying limbs composed. Somehow or other that way. It was a shock to the community to hear of thy decease, for though thou wast a close collector, thou wast also a generous distributor – when forced to pungle. For that reason some will miss thee more than others, but all of us are willing to drop a tear upon thy tomb, knowing that thy usefulness has just begun. Lament some more for Ma. Get a move on your grief for Tai. Clash the cymbals! Pound the bottom of the copper kettle! Howl!

Yum Ku Ma Tai was born in Hong Kong, China. His father was a mandarin and his mother a small footed woman. Yum inherited the regulation size Chinese foot, which grew as he grew older. Coming to America as an employe of the Chinese Six companies he landed in San Francisco, where he was trained in the Chinese civil service business. He was first sent to Mexico to look after the bodily welfare of his countrymen and to see that they did not fall behind in their dues. He made such a reputation that he was soon transferred to Portland, Oregon, and afterwards was made the emperor’s special ambassador to Montana. He chose Missoula as his headquarters some years ago, and here he remained until death

“The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,

And bade it blossom there.”[2]

In his last illness Yum was attended by the best Chinese specialists, who burnt a rag and performed various symbolic exercises, such as hitting the pipe and playing fan tan to exorcise the approaching Spirit of Darkness, but all to no avail. He got there. A member of the ancient order of rodents in good standing, and being the exalted ruler of the Missoula lodge, it was decided to give him a send off commensurate with his standing and it was done. Mock Hoi, the piper, three priests, three acolytes, four female keeners and Lum Tum, the Pacific coast harpist, were engaged for the occasion. Lum did not have his harp with him, but he chanted of the deeds and virtues of the deceased, Mock Hoi filling in the pauses with low, sweet strains, and the keening coming in heavy on the chorus. Our Oriental reporter furnishes the following translation of the Lum Tum chant as sung in the open air before a distinguished gathering of Missoula’s best families:

Gone! Gone! Pride of our race. Who can sing thy praises better than Lum Tum, the poet? The rice is cooked. It will not be eaten. The chicken is roasted brown. The pig is done to a turn. Who can put on thy shoes? Who can wear thy cap with the red button? The maidens sit by the brook and weep, and the cabbage grow untended in the garden. The lily pants for water, but the well is dry. Thou hast a long journey before thee, but friends have prepared an abundance of food. The dog wines at thy door and the ducks will miss the seed thou gavest them. Who was like Yum Ku Ma Tai? Who is worthy to take his place? Burn the sweet smelling wood. Wave the fans of perfumed paper. The tapers have burned to their sockets. They can not be relighted. Darkness has fallen upon thy house. The morning will not lift her veil for many days. Thy women have sore hearts. Their eyes are red with weeping. Thy children will eat the bread of sorrow and the rice of desolation. Sad are thy cousins. They are many. Thou hadst gold and silver in this the land of strangers. It brought thee comfort. Hear, O people, of Yum Ku Ma Tai and clash the cymbals! Make a loud noise! He can not hear it, but the devils can. They want his spirit, but they can not have it. They will not have it if the noise is made louder, if the air is made heavy with odors devils do not like.

Good-bye, Yum Ku Ma Tai. Soft be thy pillow forever. Thy bones shall rest in thy best loved land. They shall not mingle with the earth of this land. Thy brethren will mourn thee the appointed time. Thy women and thy children shall have thy substance. Farewell, Yum Ku Ma Tai. Money is with thee to pay the ferry man. Money in plenty. Pay also for thy brethren who can not cross for want of money. He is hard of heart. Thou art gentle. Thy work is done. Rest.

Which is why we again ask the people to weep for Yum, mourn for Ku, lament for Ma, grieve for Tai, the distinguished representative of his race in Missoula, who yesterday was borne to his last resting place, preceded by a military band and followed by a multitude.

The above tribute appeared in the Evening Missoulian on May 23, 1893.

 

Chinaman, He Smooth.

There is even a touch of nature in the Chinese, and the presence and importance of a newspaper man is not overlooked by them when occasion so requires. Yesterday, while a representative of the Missoulian was watching with intense interest the peculiar burial ceremonies of the race, one of the almond-eyed individuals whom the pencil pusher recognized as his washman and to whom he was indebted for a week’s washing, approached him with the following colloquy: “Ah, ha; we sabe you; you newsplaper man; you like go, get in big wagon. See?” And with this he directed the scribe to the large hay rick, which was used to deport the bedding and other effects of the deceased to the grave yard, where, according to custom, they are destroyed by fire, thereby doing away with any legal contest which might in the future arise for their possession were they otherwise disposed of. The reporter was a little averse to mounting the vehicle with its strange load, and only tumbled to the Celestial’s solicitousness when informed that he had “better get in; take all whole business out to glave yard and burnee up whole works.”

The reporter didn’t go.

The above story appeared in the Evening Missoulian on May 23, 1893.

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