Edsel Ford Wong: Meanest Waiter in San Francisco

Bleary Eyes Exhausted with Disdain
Focused Halfway between a
Gaze and a Glare
Suddenly and Silently
Pierce a Billowing
Cloud Gate Circle of Steam
Ascending from Sam Wo’s Kitchen
to a Fog Filled yet
Sunny Dining Room Above...

I’d been to San Francisco on vacation before. I was so enchanted with the place I couldn’t stand to leave. But I was only age 14 at the time so I had to return home to Chicago with my family. Eight years later I was an adult so I could afford to plan a trip there with my friend from college, Mari. I went to the Chicago Public Library to research the city by the bay. During the early eighties the library wasn’t what it is now. The overflow of books was stored in an old warehouse by the river. Back then, I found only one book Let’s Go U.S.A.— The Budget guide to the U.S.A. written by Harvard Student Agencies. I couldn’t check it out at that time so I had to write down the pertinent information. Today, however there are at least 20 travel books about San Francisco that can be checked out. I checked the current record at Chicago's Harold Washington Library and found 2 copies of the 1982 edition that now can be checked out. Back then, I was shocked at the dearth of information I found in that edition about San Francisco. The book had only ½ a page or less about the city. Never the less the information that was there was heart stopping. It said to be careful if you went to China Town because that’s where could be found the meanest waiter in San Francisco, Edsel Ford Wong. The paragraph warned: do not under any circumstances order any soft drink from him especially Coke™. If you dared he would yell at you, “No Coke! Go cross street!” I scribbled the address down: Sam Wo Restaurant, 813 Washington Street San Francisco, CA. I was psyched. I now had a reason to live. Whatever it took, I was going to meet the meanest waiter in San Francisco, Edsel Ford Wong.
About 2 weeks later I boarded the California Zephyr. On the way it stopped in Galesburg IL where my friend Mari boarded. We were on our way. I was ecstatic. The train ride was blissful and exciting. Starr McGregor, the café attendant regaled us with wistful stories of life on the rails. Although I assumed his life must at times be exciting and interesting his eyes and his descriptions and observations conveyed some regret and bitterness as the sun set across the changing landscape behind him.
After 3 days and 2 nights of travel through plains, mountains and desert we arrived in Oakland California. The place was much quieter than I expected. It was an early summer evening. The sun still hadn’t dipped below the horizon. I saw only one man walk down an empty street. I couldn’t wait to board the shuttle across the Oakland Bay Bridge to San Francisco. This place was too peaceful and sunny. I needed fog and turmoil.
My friend Bob, who I had met in Alaska the year before, met us at the shuttle terminal. He drove a beat-up VW bus circa 1968. He grew up in northern California so he knew his way around what natives like to call The City.
If I knew then what I knew now I would have insisted upon staying at the Youth Hostel at Fort Mason near the Fishermen’s Wharf. But at this time Bob was quite flush with cash from growing the state’s most profitable crop so we stayed at a typical mid-priced tourist motel. Not nearly as exhilarating or beautiful as staying at Fort Mason with it’s view of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz and its fragrant breezes filled with sea air and eucalyptus. We had two weeks to see and experience some of the countless sites: Golden Gate Park, Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, City Lights Book Store, the twists and turns traveling down Lombard Street and Coit Tower on Telegraph hill with it’s beautiful WPA murals inside near the top. But as much as I was enjoying San Francisco as if it was just one big amusement park for grownups, I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing that I wanted more than anything else in this world: meeting Edsel Ford Wong, the meanest waiter in San Francisco. I knew it wouldn't be easy to convince Mari and Bob that Sam Wo's was the only acceptable choice of restaurant in China Town. They had no idea why when China Town was teeming with great restaurants I would only be satisfied to eat there. We wound around the maze of foggy streets through China Town for what seemed like hours. Finally we arrived. Like almost everything else in San Francisco the actual experience surpassed the dream of what it would feel like. My heart beat fast. Mari and Bob looked at me as if I were crazy. Unlike any other restaurant I'd ever seen, we had to enter through a narrow steam shrouded kitchen. Embarrassed and feeling like invaders we squeezed passed cooks exhausted from constant stirring who stared at us disdainfully through clouds of malodorous and pungent vapors emanating from enormous shining silver pots. There was nowhere else to go now but up a slender staircase to a relatively sunny dining area. The long tables and benches gave an illusion of more space than was actually in the cramped room. Mari and Bob suspected nothing as we settled in to our seats. All the while I was filled with trepidation. What if Edsel wasn’t there? I’d travel across the continent to meet him. The seconds ticked by like hours. My heart and head pounded with anticipation. All of a sudden an old fat Chinese man appeared from out of the shadows. Could this be him? I looked at his name tag. It read EDSEL in white engraved letters against a shiny black plastic background. I was relieved yet giddy. This was the happiest moment of my life. I knew I had to plan every thing I said to him with precision. I had to pick just the right moment to pop the question. To begin our meal we all ordered something called rice soup. It was just awful. Kind of like eating salty fish flavored gruel. Before our entrée arrived I started to feel quite thirsty from our journey and from walking through the ersatz kitchen sauna below. I felt dizzy from apprehension and dehydration. Edsel had seemed quite nice so far but as soon as he placed upon our table the steaming plates heaped with savory delights I knew this was it. I heard loud roaring as the blood rushed from inside my head dimming the light as it attempted to travel through my eyes to my brain. Bob and Mari shook me back to consciousness. “Edsel,” I begged. My voice quivered. “Edsel, I’m so thirsty. Could I please have a Coke-a-Cola?” His eyes became black with fury. He yelled at me: “No Coke! Go cross street!” This was the moment I had been waiting for my whole life. I smiled at him sweetly. Mari and Bob were completely nonplussed. “OK, Edsel. Please just bring us some water…” Soon Edsel returned with a glistening silver pitcher filled with ice water. To show his deep contempt and disapproval he provided only the smallest possible cups to drink from. They actually weren’t beverage cups at all. They were tiny white corrugated paper cups that are customarily used to put a daub of ketchup or salad dressing. I was so pleased I wanted to jump up from the table and give him a great big hug and kiss. Sensing my deep love for him and despite the unusual hot and humid weather he soon brought a porcelain pot filled with a boiling witches brew of foul smelling tea. Before too long it was time to wind our way out of China Town back to the VW bus. We drove to the top of the hill to the famous bit of Lombard Street so that we could test the old girl’s clutch. It grinded and the engine sputtered as the bus lurched, twisted and slid its way down the steep winding roadway. It was fun but not nearly as exhilarating as meeting Edsel Ford Wong, the meanest waiter in San Francisco.
Edsel Ford Fong has left the building...