Salt Lake Buddhist Temple – more than just a building

Story and slideshow by RICH FAHEY

Visit the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple

At first sight the building looks modest with its tan, brick walls and gray, shingled roof. Nestled between the Salt Palace Convention Center and Energy Solutions Arena, it is hardly the largest structure on the block. However, upon entering it is easy to see that the Salt Lake Buddhist Temple is a very powerful and meaningful place.

The temple is designed to be the center of the Japanese-American community. Attached to the temple are classrooms, a kitchen and a gymnasium to host events. Everything from a Japanese Food Bazaar to a Holiday Boutique are held in the gym. While the temple hosts events, its main purpose is a place of worship for Jodo Shinshu Buddhism.

At the root of Buddhism is Shakyamuni Buddha, who lived more than 2,500 years ago. According to the temple Web site, he achieved perfect “human-ness” and is revered as the Buddha. Since his time, there have been others who have followed in his footsteps and achieved a similar perfect “human-ness,” thus giving way to different types of Buddhism.

Like Christianity, the Buddhist religion contains multiple sects with different beliefs. The Salt Lake Buddhist Temple practices Jodo Shinshu, or true pure land teaching, and puts Amida Buddha as the central object of reverence. Dot Richeda, president of the temple, said Jodo Shinshu Buddhism is for the layperson and open to everyone, whereas some of the other sects are specific for particular groups of people.

According to the temple Web site, “Jodo Shinshu Buddhism has much to offer in teaching us about living a spiritually awakened life, in the midst of ordinary circumstances.”

Masami Hayashi, the minister’s assistant, said Jodo Shinshu started in Utah in 1912 when Japanese immigrants came here for work. It was not until 1962 that the Salt Lake Temple was built. Before that, meetings and services were held in apartments and homes. The temple still has much of the original artwork and religious statues.

The temple features beautiful, ornate décor that is symbolic to the teachings of Jodo Shinshu. On the altar are several four-post statues. The four posts represent the Four Noble Truths or beliefs of Jodo Shinshu. The statues, all of which were crafted in Japan, are made of wood with a gold-leafed shell. They took nine months to complete and had to be specially conditioned for the arid Utah climate. Lamps hang from the ceiling and represent the lamps that Shakyamuni Buddha carried to avoid stepping on insects. Treats, candy and fruit are scattered around the altar to symbolize gratitude. Flower arrangements are a symbol of impermanence.

“Today they’re beautiful and tomorrow they’re gone,” Hayashi said.

The temple holds a meditation service each Sunday at 9 a.m., followed by a general service at 10 a.m. Most services last about 40 minutes. Like most religions, specific traditions and rituals are done before, during and after each service.

Upon entering the area of the temple where the service is held, it is customary to bow toward the altar. From there, worshippers walk to the base of the altar for oshoko, or the burning of incense. This ritual involves picking up granulated incense with one’s right hand and dropping it into the burning incense bowl. Next, visitors take a few steps back and gassho. Gassho is the act of putting one’s hands together in front of the chin and bowing toward the altar. This ritual is done to cleanse and purify oneself for the upcoming service.

Similar to many church services, a leader guides the rest of the congregation through singing, chanting and prayer. In Buddhism, the leader is known as the Sensei, and the rest of the audience is the Sangha.

The song and prayer books are written in both English and Japanese, making it easier for guests to follow along with the service. The service starts with the ringing of loud, low-pitched bells with several seconds of silence between each ring. The incense from the oshoko fills the air with a strong aroma that can be smelled from outside the temple. After the ringing of the bells, the Sangha chants an introductory sutra, followed by the Golden Chain prayer.

“I am a link in Amida Buddha’s golden chain of love that stretches around the world,” the Sangha said in unison. “In gratitude may I keep my link bright and strong.”

Following the Golden Chain prayer is another sutra. For most services the Sangha chants the Shoshinge sutra. This song only involves the Sangha and a gong, with no other musical accompaniment. After the Shoshinge, the Sensei gives a Dharma talk. This talk is similar to a sermon in other religions, generally lasting around eight minutes.

Church announcements and a final song follow the Dharma. Then the Sangha is encouraged to give offerings. According to the Web site, fundraising is one of three goals of the temple’s board of directors. Donations and contributions to the building fund will help pay for construction of a new temple to accommodate the growing membership.

The service, with its unique smells, artwork, statues, chants and songs, provides a unique opportunity for Salt Lake City residents to experience a religious ceremony they may be unfamiliar with.

“Our temple provides a viable alternative to those who may have a differing view of the world,” notes the temple Web site. “Our Temple will continue to serve the entire Salt Lake community as a hope to serve as a Religious and Cultural Bridge for understanding.”

Chinese New Year celebrations in Utah bring out many family traditions

story and slideshow by LAUREN CARTER

See images of food, paper lanterns and New Chinatown in Los Angeles

 

The United States is a melting pot of people from countries all over the world. Many people living in the U.S. carry out traditions that have been passed down through generations from their families’ country of origin. In many Asian cultures, a popular time to carry out traditions is during New Year’s.

“New Year’s always has to be a big celebration, never small,” said Anh Dang, a freshman at the University of Utah, whose family lives in Salt Lake City but originates from Vietnam. “How you celebrate the New Year determines how the rest of the year will be.”

China, Taiwan, Vietnam and Korea celebrate the Chinese New Year. Japan celebrated the Chinese New Year for centuries before switching to celebrate the solar calendar’s New Year. However, some Japanese families still follow some of the traditions associated with Chinese New Year.

Chinese New Year falls on a different date every year, based on the lunar calendar. This date usually falls between January 31 and February 20, according to the solar calendar.

“Traditions for celebrating Chinese New Year are different for each country,” said Sora Lee, a Korean exchange student currently studying fashion design at the U.

Lee usually celebrates the Chinese New Year by cooking traditional Korean food and watching television with her family in Korea. They do not eat specific dishes for certain holidays, Lee said, but eat like they would as if it were a normal day.

Lee’s family doesn’t celebrate by doing certain traditions like other Asian countries. They just rest, meet with family and eat food together, she said. This upcoming year, Lee plans to try celebrating the solar New Year with her brother in Salt Lake City. They plan to celebrate by attending a three-hour Mass at a Catholic Church.

“In the United States it’s so complicated, everything is so different,” said Yuko Takeushi, a Japanese exchange student who is currently majoring in psychology at the U.  Staying in touch with Japanese culture is difficult, she said, but she likes reminiscing about her New Year’s traditions.

Every year Takeushi’s family goes to a shrine or temple in Japan to make wishes to their ancestors. Her family doesn’t have religion, she said, but they relate a lot with Buddhism beliefs. “We wish for God, good health and family,” she said.

Takeushi’s family also declares personal goals for the next year. These goals are written out in “shoozie,” meaning calligraphy in English, on a scroll during their New Year’s Day celebrations, she said.

Dang, whose family came from Vietnam, said his New Year’s traditions involve paying respects to the dead at the family’s home in Salt Lake City. This respect is shown through offerings of food. Their house has to be clean before they can “light incense and offer food to spirits that have passed,” Dang said. “Basically you just do what you want to do but you can’t mess the house up.” After the offering is complete, Dang’s family prepares traditional Vietnamese food for a large dinner. These traditional dishes often include fish, chicken and some style of rice.

Michelle Doong, a senior at the U who has ancestors from Taiwan and China, receives homebahs as part of her family’s traditions. Homebahs, also known as red bags, are filled with money and given to relatives in celebration for New Year’s and birthday celebrations. Doong usually receives one homebah from her parents and each set of grandparents every New Year.

Doong’s family also celebrates by eating traditional Chinese foods that contain some kind of soup, meat, chicken, fish, rice and noodles. “We do a huge dinner with the family,” she said. “There is at least twelve dishes, they want everyone to eat as much as they can.”

This is because of an ancient Chinese legend about a monster named Nein. The legend says that Nein would come on the first day of every New Year to devour anything it could capture. He would usually eat livestock, crops and people, especially children, Doong said.

The people began to leave food out for Nein, believing that if he were full then he would not take their children.  According to the legend, people saw that Nein was scared off by a child wearing red. Since then, red-colored lanterns and scrolls are used for decorations on New Year. The legend also says that Nein is scared away by the loud noise firecrackers make. Thus, fireworks often accompany the Chinese New Year celebrations.

Growing up, Doong learned a similar story where the kids would be taken away by the monster if they did not eat enough food at New Year’s dinner, she said. The twelve dishes they eat always contain some kind of soup, meat, chicken, fish, rice and noodles.

“Everybody loves traditions,” said Erika Minjarez, a junior majoring in mass communication at the U.

Her New Year’s traditions involve her mother and grandmother making traditional Japanese food. “We always have like chow mein, tempura, sushi and then we have American dishes, but I won’t go into that,” Minjarez said. “We’re not hard core into our heritage so it’s nice to have that.” Eating traditional Japanese food is what they have always done to celebrate the New Year; she said she couldn’t picture eating anything else.

Yellowfinn and The Flying Sumo making waves in Utah’s sushi market

Story and slideshow by SHAANTAI LEARY

Experience the atmosphere of Yellowfinn and The Flying Sumo

 

“It’s a ‘what do you think I should get’ roll,” said Willie Hatton-Ward, 22, a sushi chef at Yellowfinn, a grill and sushi bar in Salt Lake City.

Hatton-Ward describes his signature roll as an inside-out roll. He tops a bed of rice with seaweed and then fills it with cilantro, jalapeños, and tempura yams and shrimp. He trims the roll with spicy tuna and spicy mayo as well as wasabi-flavored tobiko and serves it with a side of Thai chili sauce. Hatton-Ward’s wry sense of humor is evident in the dish’s name, Flock of Seagals, which is a play on Utah’s state bird and the family of actors whose last name is Seagal.

Hatton-Ward has been working for Yellowfinn for about nine months and has been rolling sushi for about a year. He started his career at the Flying Sumo Sushi bar and grill in Park City, which is also where he was trained in the art of sushi rolling. Hatton-Ward said in order to get started as a sushi chef, it is about “who you know and a dedication level” to the art of making sushi. A sushi chef needs to “be able to handle certain stressful situations.”

Colleen Sharpe, 25, another sushi chef at Yellowfinn, said it can become very stressful to get the rolls out quickly during the dinner rush. Her favorite rolls to do during that time are the basic rolls with only one ingredient, such as a cucumber (kyuri) roll.

Sharpe, who is from Los Angeles, got her start in Big Bear Lake, Calif. She was lucky to be trained by one of the few women sushi chefs. They worked at a restaurant called Ichiban, which was later renamed and now no longer exists.

“If I went back out to LA, I wouldn’t be able to get a job,” Sharpe said. However, in Utah, things are a little different. In Utah, she said, you can take a break and come back because sushi chefs are in demand here.

“You’re always learning something,” Sharpe said. The trick is to “find somebody who’s willing to train you.”

Sharpe feels that in the sushi making world, “if you have any experience, it goes a long way.”

She is occasionally asked to accommodate customers who are allergic to various foods, including fish. She said she must use new knives and sanitize the food preparation station, even if she is busy during peak hours.

Yellowfinn, in Salt Lake City’s Sugarhouse neighborhood, is one of many sushi restaurants in Utah. However, it is one of the few that are actually open on Sundays. Its parent restaurant, the Flying Sumo, is also open on Sundays starting at 5:30 p.m.

Yellowfinn was unusually quiet during a Sunday visit in late October. Both Hatton-Ward and Sharpe said the rainy weather may have delayed dinner customers. The restaurant features dark wood, walls painted in maroon and beige and soft lighting.

Basic rolls cost between $6 and $10. Specialty rolls range from $10 to $15. Every day, the restaurant offers a “Hammertime” special from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m., which consists of $5 rolls and appetizers.

The Flying Sumo, located on the backside of Park City Utah’s Main Street, offers basic rolls costing between $7 and $15 and specialty rolls from $12 to $17. It has catered to everyday diners as well as many celebrities, from Paris Hilton to David Arquette. The room feels a little more like a club, with low lighting and dark red walls. During a recent visit, two televisions located behind the sushi bar played James Bond’s “Golden Eye,” while music by the group Owl City played in the background. It is open every day from 5:30 p.m. to close, which is usually around 10 p.m.

Adam Brown, 37, and Paul Munarriz, who did not state his age, are two sushi chefs at the Flying Sumo who have personally catered to the rich and famous.

Brown said that Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie came in to eat and Paris had broken something. Brown suggested that she go pick one up at Walmart because it is just down the street.

Brown recalled her saying as she sat at the sushi bar, “What’s Walmart? Do they sell walls there?”

Munarriz recounts one of his run-ins with Danny Glover. Munarriz said Glover was eating at the bar and had a plate balancing there. When Munarriz stood up, he almost knocked off the plate.

“He almost went ‘Lethal Weapon’ on me,” Munarriz said. Glover found it to be quite amusing as well.

Brown made a new version of the classic Vegas roll. As an inside-out roll, it contained jalapeño, cream cheese, avocado, salmon, tuna and spicy crab. While doing this he explained that rolling a sushi (meaning seasoned rice) roll is a three-step process for him. The final step is important in order to create a roll that will not fall apart. Brown leaves a small lip of the seaweed to tuck to the bottom of the roll; this prevents it from unraveling as the knife cuts through.

“You should call it the Wendover, patent it, [you will make] a million dollars,” Brown said with a smile across his face.

Another special dish at The Flying Sumo is the Super Mars roll. It is another inside-out roll containing tempura shrimp, sprouts, asparagus and lemon and topped with tuna, avocado, spicy crab, crunchies, tobiko (flying fish eggs) and eel sauce placed across the top. A Mars roll’s base is usually shrimp and cucumber; however, Brown removed the cucumber.

Munarriz said he and the other chefs have their own language and code for speaking to one another. “We’ll never reveal it,” he said.

The Flying Sumo has a sense of peace and serenity that makes people return whenever they are in town. “The Sumo has a special magic about him,” Brown said.

Eunice Jones: ‘More than a Realtor’

Story and photo by SHAANTAI LEARY

Dressed in a black suit, with costume pearls draped around her neck, Eunice Jones, 51, spoke recently about her struggles while growing up in the Philippines. “Everyone has a story,” Jones said.

There was no electricity, so she and her brothers and sisters would use a gas lamp to do homework. On the weekends, they would do their wash in the river. Her father was an alcoholic who beat her and her siblings often; her mother was a seamstress as well as the homemaker.

“I own[ed] my first pair of shoes when I was 13 years old,” Jones said; they were a gift from her sister for her 6th grade graduation.

When she was young, Jones would sell things such as salt in the town market. The money allowed her to help out with school supplies for all 11 children; she was seventh from the oldest. “I was in sales since I was a little girl,” Jones said with a chuckle in her voice.

Jones eventually landed a job with the Hyatt hotel in the Philippines. The Hyatt then found her a position in Los Angeles, Calif. She accepted the job offer knowing that she would be leaving behind two young sons, who were 2  and 2 months old at the time, until she could get them visas to enter the U.S.

Every day she would ride the bus two hours from Glendale to L.A. just to get to work. “It was an experience,” Jones said.

She would send the money she made back to her family in the Philippines to help them raise her children. It was not until three years later that Jones was able to get her two children visas to bring them to America. By this time she was working for the Hilton in Las Vegas.

She had decided to start looking for a suitable partner so that her children could have a father figure. Jones married a man by the name of Blake Jones and they all moved to Utah in 1995. She decided to take real estate classes and in 1996 she got her license. One year later Better Home and Garden gave her the Rookie of the Year award.

”If you meet 10 people every day, you will grow your database,” Jones said.

Tim Ryan, 44, has bought and sold several homes using Jones’ assistance. He met her in 2005 while touring a home for sale. Ryan said he ended up purchasing the home because of Jones.

Currently, he is selling his home in Olympus Cove; Jones is the Realtor. Ryan likes to use her services because she has a “pocket full of clients.” He described her as being very persistent and realistic.

“It’s never a letdown, that’s what I like about her,” Ryan said. He feels that Jones is “more than a Realtor.” Ryan and his wife now have dinner with Jones and have developed a more personal relationship.

Salt Lake City’s Lượm Làm tries to forget her tough past

Story and slideshow by CHLOE NGUYEN

View a slideshow of Làm’s memories as she talks about her tough past

 

Pictures of smiles hang on the wall. It’s a nice home, comfortable with green indoor plants. She arrives to the interview two minutes late. She’s just gotten home from her job as souschef at the Little America Hotel. It’s 8:02 p.m. and she probably hasn’t had dinner. Within seconds of walking into her house, she takes her coat and boots off and says, “We can start.” She takes a seat on her tan coach next to one of the plant pots. The recorder is pushed to “record.” She tells her story.

Abandoned by her parents shortly after birth in the city of Dĩ An, Việt Nam, Lượm Làm, 41, was the offspring of an affair between a married Vietnamese woman and an American soldier during the Vietnam War. Her name, Lượm, was given to her by her adoptive mother, Hương Vũ. “It means I was ‘picked up,’” Làm said. In Vietnamese, lượm means to pick something off the streets or something that no one else wants.

Làm’s birth mother, Tôi Lê, kept her pregnancy a secret. And when Làm was born in 1969, she became a secret as well. “I was told she hid me,” Làm said. “She tied her stomach so no one would know she was pregnant. I was always sick as a child.”

Vũ thought Làm wouldn’t make it past childhood, so she and Lê signed an agreement: if the baby died of illness, Vũ wouldn’t be held responsible. But if Làm grew strong and led a healthy life, she would no longer have any connections with her birth mother. Làm would only have one mother, her adoptive one.

“[My birth mother] agreed right away,” Làm said. “I guess she didn’t want her family and friends to know she had a daughter like me.”

Like a miracle, Làm’s health improved. She grew up without memories of her birth mother. Làm’s adoptive parents loved her, and so did their son, Làm Văn Phước. They gave her a family to come home to every day after school; meals were present on the table each night. The family of four lived a happy life in the countryside of Dĩ An for the first few years through Làm’s childhood. But school for Làm was a different story.

“People looked at me different, but I didn’t know why,” Làm said. “I was always lonely.”

Others could see that Làm looked different, and so could she. Làm didn’t have the dark hair that others had; hers was light brown. Her skin looked paler than her other classmates; her eyes, not dark. Làm stood out. The 8-year-old girl was called names and bullied. Classmates threw centipedes at her and teachers didn’t care. Not only did she look different from her classmates, she also looked different from her parents and brother.

Làm slowly realized that the parents who loved her since she could remember were not her biological parents. Làm started to wonder who her birth parents were. The face of one woman kept coming to mind. Làm had seen her a few times in Dĩ An when she went to the market with her mom. She had seen her for the first time at 5 years old; a second time at 8. “I didn’t know who she was,” Làm said. “I just knew she gave me money to buy some clothes and food.”

Làm recalls the moment when she was 10 years old, when she realized who her birth mother was. She remembers sitting at the stairs outside of Lê’s shop one day. Her adoptive mother was talking to the woman whom she would soon know as her birth mother. She didn’t hear the conversation, but a “feeling” told her the truth.

Làm recalls Lê as being somewhat happy and excited the first few times she went to visit her birth mother. But after a while, annoyance and bother replaced the happiness and excitement. Làm limited her visits.

Because of the country’s poor economy after the war, money and food became limited. At 14 years old, Làm stopped going to school because her family could not afford to pay her tuition. “It was a cup of rice to four people a day,” Làm remembers. “I went to bed hungry because we didn’t have enough food to eat.”

Làm had to eventually seek financial help from Lê in order to survive. Tears ran down her cheeks as she remembers the pain of humiliation when she asked for money. “Every time I took her money, I’m crying inside,” Làm said. “But I told myself, ‘the family needs it to survive, don’t just think about yourself.’” Làm said her parents’ love was her only motivation to stay strong.

But their love wasn’t enough to keep life going. Làm worked hard as a farmer, but received little pay. Eventually, she gave in to her adoptive parents’ wishes for her to return to her birth mother. They could no longer provide for her what she needed in order to stay alive.

Làm was, however, looking forward to moving in with her birth mother – it would give her the chance to get to know the person who brought her into this world. But Làm’s dream of a happy reunion quickly turned into a nightmare. From the moment she walked into the wide doors of the big house that belonged to Lê, Làm wasn’t her daughter. “I was a slave for her,” Lam said. “I was her housekeeper.”

Làm had to keep her identity a secret. But as the Vietnamese saying goes, giấy không gói được lửa, meaning, paper cannot hold fire – the truth will come out sooner or later. In Làm’s case, it came out sooner.

Suspicion quickly ran through the house and rumors that Làm was actually part of the family spread like a wildfire. Her birth mother looked her in the eye and asked her if she had spread the rumors. Làm remembers that she didn’t know how to answer the harsh questions. Both she and Lê knew the answer to the question. But Làm told her stepsister, “No, I’m not your sister. Don’t listen to the people talk. I am just a daughter of your mom’s friend. My family is too poor, so I’ve come here to work for you; your mom gives me food to eat.”

That night Làm made the decision to return to her adoptive family. “I was OK with going to bed hungry every night, but I want[ed] to live with someone who loves me and I loved them,” Làm said.

When Làm turned 18, she began dreaming about going to America. “I wanted to go over there and make money,” Làm said. “I have to work hard, make money, and take care of my dad and mom and brother. I cannot let them live hungry every day and let people look down on them.” She also had hopes to find her biological father.

Làm’s dream for a better life came to a halt when her paperwork got denied. She resorted to an option that she still regrets to this day – she agreed to an arranged marriage that would, as she thought, bring her to America. She thought wrong. Her paperwork for America was on a long hiatus with no approval date in sight.

Làm married Tuấn Nguyễn on March 19, 1989, in Dĩ An. She acknowledged that there was no love in the relationship, so she didn’t say anything when he cheated on her repeatedly. He also physically abused her. “If I was lucky, 25 out of 30 days a month I got beat[en],” Làm said. “Normal months, I get beat[en] every day.”

On March 10, 1990, she had her first son. When he was 4 months old, she took him and fled. But her in-laws found them and threatened to take her son away from her. With her son in mind, Làm swallowed her pride and continued to stay in a house where she was being physically and mentally abused.

Làm was offered a miracle when her paperwork for America was finally approved. In 1991, after spending 20 years in Dĩ An, Làm, with her husband and son, traveled to the Philippines and waited for the final departure to America.

On Aug. 15, 1992, the three made it to America. Her second son was born on May 18, 1993. “I heard doctors say the word ‘baby’ and I started crying,” Làm said. “My life was hell, how was I going to take care of another baby?”

After moving from Ohio to Utah in 1995, Làm found a job working at Fashion Tech Windows Curtain in Salt Lake City, but was soon let go. She was constantly late to work because she had to rely on her husband for a ride. Without a job and no income for food, she reached a dead end.

Làm tried committing suicide by overdosing on pills. “I didn’t die the first time, so I tried again.” Làm recalls. “The doctors thought I was crazy, they put me in the hospital for crazy people.”

Làm said she remembers the moment before she fell unconscious. The only sound she heard were the crying calls of her two sons. Làm says that her sons’ crying was what kept her from attempting suicide a third time. She couldn’t leave them without a mother, not with the type of father they had. When Làm returned home after being released from the hospital, she filed for divorce.

The divorce would be finalized after a three-month separation period. Nguyễn didn’t want to move out of their current apartment, so Làm and her two sons moved out instead. She remembers the very spots where they slept: 1000 N. 300 West and 1300 S. Main St.

“I didn’t have anywhere to go. I drove around the city for about two weeks, no, it was almost one month,” Làm said. “I took my two sons and slept in my black Mazda while it was snowing outside.”

One of her few friends at the time offered them a place to stay. Shane Christensen, 40, Làm’s present boyfriend, stood up for her when her husband unexpectedly came looking for her. “No one’s done that for me before,” Làm said. “It meant a lot.”

After realizing he could no longer control her, Nguyễn left and never came back.

With her husband finally out of her life, Làm was ready to start fresh. She says she found her first love in 1996. Christensen helped her get welfare, a place to stay, find a job and apply for school.

In 1999, Làm realized she was ready for another marriage, but Christensen wasn’t. He was diagnosed with kidney failure. Although Christensen’s health is stable now, the wedding date is no longer something the couple aims for. “[We’re] comfortable with the way we are now,” Làm said. “I don’t want to marry again. But I’ll always remember Shane helped me 15 years ago. I’ll always be there for him.”

And she has. “She spent time with me at the hospital; she’s there after I came out. She’s taken care of me; she’s helped me through many problems I have with my own life,” Christensen said. “She’s always been there for me; I appreciate her quite a bit.”

Christensen said Làm is one of the kindest people he’s ever met. “Many times we’ll be driving down the street and she’ll see a homeless person,” he said. “She’s gonna stop to give them something. She’ll even come back later if she missed them the first time. You can tell that she cares about everybody.”

Làm simply says, “I was homeless, I know the feeling.”

Still, as comfortable as she may be now in her life, there is one thing Làm says she will never be able to let go of. “I still dream about my real father,” Làm said. “Even if he is dead, I want to find him.”

She also wants an apology from her birth mother. “I want my mom to come to me, look at me and tell me she’s sorry for what she did do me,” Làm said. “I will definitely not be mad at her. I will definitely understand.”

Làm plans to write her a letter that explains how she has felt all these years, how she’s lived, how she wants information about her birth father, and about how she finds it unfair that her step-siblings got to lead a happy life while she led a miserable one.

Her close friend, Sau Ngô, 54, finds it troubling as well. “I think had she been born at a different time, things would be different,” she said in Vietnamese. “It’s the Việt Nam culture back then. Anyone who was mixed was looked down upon. But it’s different now.”

But Ngô believes Làm’s past made her the strong person she is today. “It’s wrong to leave your daughter, it’s very wrong. She had a sad past, so it’s encouragement to do better for her future,” Ngô said. “Sometimes, people will say harsh words to her, look down on her and say she’s not smart or can’t do this, can’t do that; so it’s her strength to do better with her life.”

Làm says she will be finishing her high school diploma at Horizonte Instruction & Training Center in April 2011. She plans to go to college and become a chef. But first, she would like to improve her English with more ESL classes.

“I’m proud of my mom for fighting to survive and I know that she’s gone through everything for me,” said Ming Nguyễn, 17, Làm’s youngest son. “I love my mom. She’s my hero. I’ll do the best I can to be the son she wants. I’m going to make it in life and be successful for her.”

Ming Nguyễn had little to say about his father. “I have a lot of hate for him.”

Làm admits she cries often. Coming home from work each night, she’ll sit in the driveway until her tears are dried because she doesn’t want her sons to see. She says that only those close to her know her story – but not all of it. She keeps the whole story to herself. “I’ve only told half my story,” Lam said. “There’s too much to tell.”

As she wipes the tears from her eyes, Làm smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “You’ve helped me by listening. I needed to tell it to someone.” She gets off her coach and continues to the kitchen of her present-day house. It’s 10:26 p.m. And although it’s late, she can now say that she no longer goes to bed hungry every night.

Ogden’s Japantown disappears

Story and multimedia by TAUNA LYNNE PRICE

Listen to Raymond Uno narrate a mini-documentary about Japantown

 

The world came to Ogden, Utah, with the completion of the Union Station Depot for the railroad in 1850. A few decades later, in the late 1800s, the Japanese people began migrating. The Union Pacific Railroad brought in hundreds of railroad workers, and many of them were Japanese, according to Hub Tours, which has dedicated a page on the Web site to Ogden Japantown Day of Remembrance.

They began building their own businesses close to the Union Station and 25th Street. They began replacing the cheap restaurants, beer and gambling halls and the reoccurring red-light district and reinventing the area, according to the site.

Raymond Uno was born in Ogden and raised on 25th Street. Both parents came from Japan, making him a Nisei, or a first-generation Japanese American.

The concentrated area in Ogden that soon became known as Japantown was 25th Street to 24th Street and Grant Avenue to Lincoln. Most of the Japanese Americans lived around or on 25th Street, Uno recalled.

Uno witnessed first-hand the growth of Japantown on 25th Street and saw his people develop into a community and thrive as a culture. He recalled the many businesses that were established during his childhood.

A hospital, staffed with Japanese doctors, was established for strictly Japanese railroad workers. No safety regulation existed during this time, therefore injuries were common, Uno said. The hospital stayed open for a number of years while the Japanese railroad workers were still active.

Merchant owners began opening their own shops, which included restaurants, a barbershop, fish market and cafés. The first Japanese dentist had an office on 25th Street and Grant Ave on the second floor of the building. The Japanese Association was established to assist people with problems and eventually a Japanese school opened up adjacent to the Japanese Association, Uno said.

A men’s boarding house opened up. Rooms were available to single men; it was a place for them to stay, be surrounded by their culture and eat Japanese food.

In February 1942, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 and an influx of Japanese from the West Coast flooded Utah by the hundreds to avoid internment.

According to an article in the Utah Humanities Council Newsletter, “Not all Japanese citizens in Ogden welcomed this influx of people, suddenly competing for jobs and housing.” But in time, they too became contributing members of this community, eventually taking part in the establishment and growth of Japantown.

The Japanese had a language barrier, a religious barrier, a cultural barrier and most of all a racial barrier, and all these worked against them, Uno said. Those who originally moved to Ogden stayed in Ogden for some time. But the business opportunities were slipping away.

Unlike the tradition of taking over the family business, parents pushed their children to want better than they had, through education, said Marion Hori, creator of a photo display for the Japantown Reunion in Ogden, in a phone interview. Hori is also involved with her culture and community in preserving the history of Japantown.

“One of the things the Japanese always did, was they stressed education. They wanted the kids to go to school. They didn’t want them to go through the same things they went through when they became immigrants…. [They] had to fight for everything that they got,” said Uno, who was the first minority to sit on Utah’s Third Judicial District Court.

Uno said these families owned the barbershops, beauty parlors, restaurants and shops. They farmed and worked at Hill Field. As the children grew up, job opportunities for Ogden’s graduates were scarce. As the children migrated away, Japantown began to disappear, Uno recalled.

“From the heydays of 1940 to about 1948, there were a lot of Japanese in the community and things were pretty active,” Uno said. “The churches were active and everything. And from that time on, things have slowly diminished, because people like myself, after graduating out of Weber College in ’52 migrated to Salt Lake City.”

Uno added, “As the Japanese progressed economically, the housing market opened up. The restrictions of the racial covenants that prohibited people from living in certain areas were stricken down, so the Japanese were able to move into other areas. … The Japanese community just disintegrated along with the businesses because people quit coming to 25th Street and living on 25th Street,” Uno said.

The birth of the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce

Story and photo by TAUNA LYNNE PRICE

The Asian American community maintained their lives. They worked, ran their businesses, supported their families and were contributing members of society. However, no business network existed among the Asian culture in Utah. There was no business community in place to help them stay connected and support one another.

In 2005 Gov. Michael Leavitt, under the auspices of the Utah Office of Ethnic Affairs, called all Asian leaders together. Eunice Jones, one of the attendees, said the leaders were divided into four groups: health, education, legal and economic development. Leavitt’s goal was to have an Asian directory created.

Jones, 51, a successful businesswoman who was born in the Philippines, was sought out by Leavitt to assist in bridging these cultures. She witnessed the importance of networking and local cultural support first hand through her volunteerism.

Jones was a real estate broker and therefore placed herself in economic development, where she knew her skills would be most useful. Jones recalls only roughly 10 Asian leaders who were involved in this assignment.

The group brainstormed for months. Jones said eventually all Asian leaders quit attending the meetings, with the exception of herself and Raymond Uno. Uno is a retired judge and currently a board member of the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce.

Jones began researching the Western United States and looked at Arizona, Colorado and California for any Asian Chamber of Commerce currently active. She discovered that each state has its own Asian Chamber of Commerce. She started printing and reading all available articles to gain ideas to move Utah forward in starting its own Asian Chamber.

“I said judge, can we call all of our business owners, all the Asian business owners, and we all come together and start the chamber,” Jones said, “and he said that’s [a] great idea, let’s do it.”

In 2005, the Salt Lake Chamber of Commerce partnered with Jones and Uno to help them launch the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce.

Jones remembers Zion’s Bank stepping up to be the first donor and founding sponsor for the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce with a $10,000 donation.

According to the chamber’s Web site, “The purpose of the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce shall be to promote social, economic, and other business resources to enable its members to become successful entrepreneurs and professionals. This will be done by training, education, sharing of information, networking and other resources that will be made available through the Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce and Asian-owned businesses.”

The Utah Asian Chamber of Commerce is involved with and hosts many different events to promote camaraderie among the Asian culture and educate the general public.

According to its mission statement, the chamber strives “to foster Asian businesses and professionals within the state of Utah, particularly small businesses, with activities that result in a prosperous and economically healthy Asian community, and to promote international trade with Asian and other countries.”

Utah Domestic Violence Council aims to help Asian American women

by TAUNA LYNNE PRICE

It was common practice for emotional and physical violence to be prevalent among Asian families living in their home country. When Asians started to migrate east to the US, the abuse followed.

“The majority of participants believed that domestic violence against women stems from a legacy of patriarchy and sexism that is widespread in many Asian-American communities,” wrote Sujata Warrier, Ph.D, in the report, “(Un) heard Voices: Domestic Violence in the Asian American Community.

Warrier, who serves on the boards of numerous groups, including the Asian American Institute on Domestic Violence and the National Network on Behalf of Battered Immigrant Women, wrote that due to this patriarchy, “Women are socialized to believe and accept that violence in a relationship is acceptable, that male power expressed abusively is part of the cultural milieu, and therefore batterers are not held accountable for their behavior in their own communities.”

According to Speaking the Unspeakable: Marital Violence among South Asian Immigrants in the United States by Margaret Abraham, cultural milieu is a form of control. The victim is isolated from society. Their abuser strictly monitors all of the incoming communication. The information the victim receives by the abuser is limited, if not false, which promotes the cult-like regulation and full subordination.

A consequence of cultural milieu is victims’ self-esteem. They begin to integrate their treatment into their self-worth. They feel less valuable, intellectually inferior and sub-human.

“In the Asian communities emotional control, respect for authority, self-blame, perseverance and the acceptance of suffering are considered highly valued virtues and traits,” said Hildegard Koenig, diversity coordinator at the Utah Domestic Violence Council, in an e-mail interview.

“Those culturally based responses,” Koenig said, “contribute to their unwillingness or hesitance to express their victimization, even to people inside of a close circle of friends or family.”

Linda K. Oda, director of Asian Affairs at the Office of Ethnic Affairs in Salt Lake City, said, “Domestic violence in Asian-American communities places a mark on the family if reported.”

Contacting the proper authorities has shown to be a difficult task for Asian Americans. If these victims contact the proper authorities, it could end up being either constructive or catastrophic.

The decision by the victim to make constructive choices could produce many positive outcomes. The victim would leave a paper trail of the abuse, records of injuries and other documentation, and make authorities aware of the situation. The goal would be for the victim to obtain assistance to safely separate themselves from their abuser, according to the report, “(Un) heard Voices: Domestic Violence in the Asian American Community.” The report offers the victim resources to support her decision to leave her abuser.

The catastrophic effects of their decision to contact the authorities could cause irreversible damage and overall fear of local and federal government, according to the report. The most common would be the racism displayed by the responders.  This act could not only negatively impact the victim, but also the aggressor, possibly adding to the situation.

Gay minorities in Utah can face double discrimination

Story and multimedia by KAREN HOLT BENNION

Watch Jerry Rapier direct a reading of “The Scarlet Letter” for the 2011-2012 season.

Listen to Jennifer Freed talk about Jerry Rapier, director of Plan-B Theatre Co.

Jerry Rapier has made a name for himself in Salt Lake City as an award-winning producer and director.

This is the 11th season of Plan-B Theatre Co. which he founded in 1991 with Cheryl Cluff and Tobin Atkinson. Rapier has been given many honors, including the Salt Lake City’s Mayor’s Artist Award in the Performing Arts in 2008. In 2009, he was given the title of Alternative Pioneer by Salt Lake City Weekly. With many successful plays, a rewarding career and a loyal partner who has been with him for 15 years, some might say that Rapier is living the “American Dream.”

However, despite his current success, he still remembers facing trying times in his past. Jerry Rapier is Asian-American and he is gay. Consequently, he faces a double hardship in Utah.

He was born in Nagasaki, Japan, to an alcoholic mother. When he was 8 years old he was adopted by an American family and went to live with them in New Mexico. Life with his new family was trying at times because his family was “very, very LDS,” he said in an e-mail interview. When he was 23, he mustered all of his courage to come out to the family. Rapier says it was difficult for a few years because they needed time to adjust. “They are great now,” he said.

As a minority who is gay, Rapier is part of a small number of gay minorities in Utah. He says the main reason for the low figure is due to demographics. “This is not a very diverse place, period,” he said in a recent interview. On the other hand, he believes that minorities who are also gay fear coming out because they could be ostracized from their families. “But I will say that I believe this to be changing, slowly, surely,” Rapier said.

“I think it’s almost impossible to live your life now and not know a gay person — and that changes your perspective,” he said in the e-mail.

He remembers how isolated he felt as a teen and is upset by the bullying that is escalating against gay teens today across the country, with some ending in suicides. As a result, Plan B joined 40 other local Outreach Partners to put an end to bullying. The event on Sunday, Nov. 14, was called “Different is Amazing.” The fundraiser included theater, songs and dance. The festivities opened with a short dance by the Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company’s Step Up group, which consists of dancers from Salt Lake City high schools. All proceeds went to the Human Rights Education Center of Utah.

Another advocate for civil rights is Cathy Martinez. She is the director of the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Resource Center at the University of Utah. She agrees with Rapier about the small number of gay minorities in Utah. While she acknowledges that Utah is predominantly white, she says gay minorities are trapped in a stigma of being “a minority within a minority.” They are virtually forced to live in two communities.

Her experience with international students at the U has led her to realize some Asian families do not embrace or encourage members who have different sexual identities. “We need to talk about race too when we talk of sexual discrimination,” Martinez says. She recounts helping a  gay couple, who were international students studying at the U from China and Korea. When the Korean student’s family found out he was gay, they immediately st0pped paying for his schooling. Without money to continue his studies,  he was forced to return home.

“Not all cultures look down on homosexuality,” Martinez says. Thailand is the Asian hub for sexual reassignment surgery. Moreover, before missionaries arrived in early America many Native American tribes respected gay and transsexual members. They believed them to be two spirited.

Plan B’s latest production, “She Was My Brother,” which was directed by Rapier, is about a government ethnographer who is sent to study the Zuni Tribe of the Southwest in the late 1800s. The government official becomes attracted  to a male transgender tribal member. The tribal member is revered by the Zunis as very wise. Ironically, the Native American calls people in the “white society” uncivilized because of their intolerance to its citizens who fall outside of what society deems normal.

Martinez feels that education about race and sexuality and ability level (blind, deaf and disabled) must filter down to more high schools, junior highs and communities. She is working hard to educate people at the college level.

Brandi Balken, executive director of Equality Utah, says her office is working on educating the public as well. She says that being a gay minority is enduring “double marginalization.”

“There is not state for federal protection in housing and employment based on sexual orientation or gender identity,” Balken says.

Protection is available for those based on race, age and gender under the Civil Rights Act. Moreover, the Americans with Disabilities Act helps those with different levels of ability. However, people at Equality Utah are continually working with local legislators to pass state and federal laws to help all citizens of Utah gain the same rights to fair housing and employment.

Gay and transgendered citizens in seven Utah cities and counties have some protection regarding employment and housing rights.  They include: Salt Lake City, Salt Lake County, Park City, Summit County, Logan, Taylorsville and West Valley City.

With the help of Jerry Rapier, Cathy Martinez and Brandi Balken, the future could look brighter for people of all races and gender identities who are in need of support.

Kyoto Japanese Restaurant – bringing Japan to Utah

Story and slideshow by RICH FAHEY

View a slideshow of Kyoto Japanese Restaurant

Japanese paintings featuring koi fish, birch trees and buildings hang on the walls. A vase of fresh lilies sits on each table, illuminated by a paper lantern hanging overhead. Diners at a table to the left are just out of view thanks to a thin paper wall, allowing light to pass through. To the right, a family of five sits cross-legged with their shoes off. The place is Kyoto Japanese Restaurant.

From the cuisine and décor to the staff, Kyoto Japanese Restaurant is an authentic Japanese eating experience in Salt Lake City.

Founded on Aug. 16, 1984, by Osamu Tada and his wife Yoshiko, Kyoto has developed a large customer base of locals and out-of-state visitors alike. The restaurant is popular among members of both the Asian and white communities.

“We get a lot of customers from around the neighborhood, so we see a lot of the same people eat here often,” Yoshiko Tada said.

Located at 1080 E. 1300 South, Kyoto is easily accessible for visitors as well. The restaurant sees a lot of customers who come for conventions, such as the Outdoor Retailer Market held biannually in August and January. In the winter, snow sports enthusiasts who are on vacation frequent the restaurant.

“When people visit on one vacation, they always come back the next time,” Tada said.

Kyoto has both a lunch and dinner menu and a wide variety of dishes. It also serves Japanese beer such as Sapporo, and hot or cold sake. While the establishment does serve teriyaki chicken, tempura, sashimi and gyoza, it is known mainly for its sushi.

“We serve more traditional sushi than most places in the city,” Tada said.

Three different chefs, all of whom were trained in northern Japan, make the sushi rolls. It serves more traditional sushi so beginners are not as likely to eat at Kyoto, Tada said. One specialty roll that is a common choice for the experienced sushi eater is the Red Dragon roll.

Charles S., an online restaurant reviewer on Yelp, wrote, “My daughter ordered it and it was phenomenal! Best roll I’ve ever tasted … anywhere!”

Another dish served at Kyoto that is difficult to find anywhere else is Dobin Mushi. Made from the very rare pine mushroom, Dobin Mushi is a soup that also includes chicken and vegetables. What makes it special is the rarity of the mushroom and how long it takes to make. Each bowl of soup is heated and served individually in a small clay pot. The lid of the pot doubles as a cup to sip the soup from, similar to tea.

“Japanese people very much appreciate it,” Tada said.

The décor contributes to the authentic feel of Kyoto. The waiting area decorations are replaced every few months to accompany the changing of the seasons. Currently, pumpkins, leaves, an autumn bouquet and paintings representing fall give the small room a festive feeling.

“In Japan it is very important for people to feel the seasons,” Tada said.

Most of the paintings, some of which are extremely rare, are imported from Kyoto, Japan. Others were created by local artists. Kyoto is also home to a variety of beautiful furniture from Japan. In the front of the restaurant is a chest of drawers made of weathered wood. Crafted metal handles and designs give the drawers a worn look. On top sits a well-manicured bonsai tree. At the back of the restaurant in one of the high-occupancy booths is a similarly designed hutch, displaying different Japanese plates and sculptures, all imported from Kyoto.

The seating in the restaurant offers an authentic Japanese experience as well. While Kyoto has standard tables and chairs, it also offers traditional low tables where customers can sit on pillows and take their shoes off, which is customary in Japan.

Adding to the authentic atmosphere is the service. During dinner hours the waitresses, all of whom are Asian, wear kimonos. A kimono is a long robe traditionally worn in Japan that usually depicts a floral design.

“It is unique for Salt Lake City. I can’t think of another restaurant where they wear kimonos,” Tada said.

The staff at the restaurant is helpful and courteous. Some of the waitresses have been working there since it opened more than 26 years ago.

“We are just like a family,” Tada said.

Heather Scaglione, 23, a University of Utah alumna and sushi lover, said, “It’s not just the food that keeps me going back. Every time I’ve gone to Kyoto I’ve had a good experience.”