It was the summer of 1996. A journalist friend had extended a last minute invitation to the Council of Foreign Relations for a speech by then-Secretary of State Warren Christopher. Arriving late, Kathleen and I were incongruously led to the front row to sit between Richard Holbrooke and Tom Brokaw. My momentary bemusement by the duo’s seeming competition for the most rumpled suit award gave way to wonder as my peripheral vision picked up the iconic round tortoise shell specs being worn by I. M. Pei. I was one row removed, catercorner from greatness. It was the perfect selfie moment, one that unfortunately predated the enabling technologies by a good two decades.
I. M. Pei was the first prominent Asian American that entered my consciousness, his ample talent demonstrating the heights achievable in this society by those who looked like me.
The Elizabeth, New Jersey of my youth was more befuddled about Asian Americans than anything. It was a community of strivers of all ethnic groups. The antagonism I received, often amusing in retrospect, like once when I was targeted, along with a boy from Yugoslavia, as “Commies,” by a few of Polish extraction, only highlighted the sense that folks generally didn’t know what to make of me. After the requisite bruises and a few black eyes, we all became friends, a veritable ethnic smorgasbord. While none of us were particularly well-represented at the one-percent strata, my buddies could at least pattern match their way into the future. Meanwhile, as the only Asian kid in around, I had Arnold from Happy Days.
Luckily, I had an over-achieving cousin studying architecture, whose drafting table and scale models, the highlights of my occasional visits to his family, led to quality time at my local library, a magisterial token of Andrew Carnegie’s largess replete with a portrait of the grand old man himself. In those pre-Internet days, this was my essential resource for all the world’s knowledge.
I was first introduced to I. M. Pei during one of these expeditions, likely through an article about his then-nascent Louvre commission. I eagerly devoured articles, often on microfiche, about his projects bringing an innovative modernist sensibility across a wide swath of our fifty states. I was mindful that, while he was likely the first Asian of note in most of these situations, their success amply demonstrated that whatever befuddlement or stereotypes he confronted were just trifling obstacles to be surmounted. He was someone, with roots similar to mine, who had reached the apex of his trade on a global scale by creating his own path, his own legend.
I’ve since learned that our country has been the beneficiary of a long list of Asian American trailblazers, including even Pat Morita. But, I. M. Pei was the one who opened my eyes. His achievements gave me the permission to dream.
