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Authors: Charles Mathes
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a new type of water desalinization plant. It was a golden opportunity, his chance to make some money as well as a real contribution to the country. If his ideas could bring good water to Adelaide, the government might let him become a citizen!
To finance the huge project, Taki leveraged his Sydney real estate and raised the remainder by private subscription. Within a year, however, cost overruns, technical problems, and underestimated graft had doubled the initial estimate. While Tak Wing frantically cut corners and scrambled to find additional backing, Bartlett Hewby was having trouble maintaining his standard of living in London and chose this moment to sell Takiâs note. The buyers, a real-estate syndicate, found a loophole in the legal work and demanded payment in full.
Tak Wing was woefully overextended. His financing collapsed, millions of investor dollars were lost, and Taki was forced into bankruptcy. He was virtually destitute, his visa was revoked, and he barely avoided criminal prosecution.
Bartlett Hewby was distressed to learn of his protégéâs troubles. Feeling partly responsible, Hewby sent Taki a plane ticket to London and put him up in his Mayfair flat.
Taki took the only job he could find, sweeping out a pub in Kensington. He began coming home increasingly late and increasingly drunk. Finally Hewby couldnât stand it anymore. He called in all his favors and helped his poor friend emigrate to the United States. Anything to be rid of him!
When Tak Wing arrived in New York he was forty-four years old. He had $100 in his pocket and a few belongings in a canvas bag.
Taki took a room at the YMCA and went through a lunatic series of jobs to support his drinking: making hats, modeling shoes, driving a fish truck for the Fulton Street market.
One day Taki was dispatched to New Jersey in his fish
truck. As he exited the Lincoln Tunnel, he looked up and saw a sign for Weehawken.
Shivering with awe, Taki nearly ran off the road. Weehawken! The very name was magical. Weehawken was the place his friend, Sgt. Caesar St. Vincent Marvelle, had always talked about so many years before.
He pulled off the highway and found a phone book at a grocery store. The only listing under Marvelle was for a Cassandra. A few minutes later Taki was standing in front of the address, a decaying mansion on a cliff overlooking Manhattan. The sign in front of the building read LORD GOD ALMIGHTY SALVATION CHAPEL AND FUNERAL PARLOR.
Taki was shown a seat next to an open coffin with a thin black man inside, very dead. After ten minutes an enormous and elderly black woman entered. Her bearing was regal. She was dressed in a black silk dress and held her head like a queen.
âI looking for Sergeant Marvelle,â said Taki, rising.
âWho wants to see him?â
âI old friend. Army buddy.â
âYou donât look like no army buddy I ever saw.â
âWe friends in Japan. Nineteen hundred forty-six. Best buddies.â
âMy brother been dead for six years. High blood pressure. I laid him out myseâf.â
Taki sat down and began to cry.
Miss Marvelle couldnât believe her eyes. She finally calmed Taki down, took him upstairs to her living quarters, and had her cook, a feebleminded woman known only as Aunt Sally, fix him lunch.
They talked about Caesar and the funeral business through the afternoon and into the evening. Miss Marvelle was getting on in years. Lately she had been seriously thinking about finding someone young and energetic to help her out.
âYou beinâ a friend of Caesar anâ all, mebbe I can trust you. You interested in learning the funeral business from the
ground up? Canât pay you much, but the job comes with room and board.â
The next day Miss Marvelle paid the Bonaducci brothers for the truckload of spoiled fish, and Taki moved his few belongings from the YMCA. Miss Marvelle was true to her word; Taki learned the business from the ground
To finance the huge project, Taki leveraged his Sydney real estate and raised the remainder by private subscription. Within a year, however, cost overruns, technical problems, and underestimated graft had doubled the initial estimate. While Tak Wing frantically cut corners and scrambled to find additional backing, Bartlett Hewby was having trouble maintaining his standard of living in London and chose this moment to sell Takiâs note. The buyers, a real-estate syndicate, found a loophole in the legal work and demanded payment in full.
Tak Wing was woefully overextended. His financing collapsed, millions of investor dollars were lost, and Taki was forced into bankruptcy. He was virtually destitute, his visa was revoked, and he barely avoided criminal prosecution.
Bartlett Hewby was distressed to learn of his protégéâs troubles. Feeling partly responsible, Hewby sent Taki a plane ticket to London and put him up in his Mayfair flat.
Taki took the only job he could find, sweeping out a pub in Kensington. He began coming home increasingly late and increasingly drunk. Finally Hewby couldnât stand it anymore. He called in all his favors and helped his poor friend emigrate to the United States. Anything to be rid of him!
When Tak Wing arrived in New York he was forty-four years old. He had $100 in his pocket and a few belongings in a canvas bag.
Taki took a room at the YMCA and went through a lunatic series of jobs to support his drinking: making hats, modeling shoes, driving a fish truck for the Fulton Street market.
One day Taki was dispatched to New Jersey in his fish
truck. As he exited the Lincoln Tunnel, he looked up and saw a sign for Weehawken.
Shivering with awe, Taki nearly ran off the road. Weehawken! The very name was magical. Weehawken was the place his friend, Sgt. Caesar St. Vincent Marvelle, had always talked about so many years before.
He pulled off the highway and found a phone book at a grocery store. The only listing under Marvelle was for a Cassandra. A few minutes later Taki was standing in front of the address, a decaying mansion on a cliff overlooking Manhattan. The sign in front of the building read LORD GOD ALMIGHTY SALVATION CHAPEL AND FUNERAL PARLOR.
Taki was shown a seat next to an open coffin with a thin black man inside, very dead. After ten minutes an enormous and elderly black woman entered. Her bearing was regal. She was dressed in a black silk dress and held her head like a queen.
âI looking for Sergeant Marvelle,â said Taki, rising.
âWho wants to see him?â
âI old friend. Army buddy.â
âYou donât look like no army buddy I ever saw.â
âWe friends in Japan. Nineteen hundred forty-six. Best buddies.â
âMy brother been dead for six years. High blood pressure. I laid him out myseâf.â
Taki sat down and began to cry.
Miss Marvelle couldnât believe her eyes. She finally calmed Taki down, took him upstairs to her living quarters, and had her cook, a feebleminded woman known only as Aunt Sally, fix him lunch.
They talked about Caesar and the funeral business through the afternoon and into the evening. Miss Marvelle was getting on in years. Lately she had been seriously thinking about finding someone young and energetic to help her out.
âYou beinâ a friend of Caesar anâ all, mebbe I can trust you. You interested in learning the funeral business from the
ground up? Canât pay you much, but the job comes with room and board.â
The next day Miss Marvelle paid the Bonaducci brothers for the truckload of spoiled fish, and Taki moved his few belongings from the YMCA. Miss Marvelle was true to her word; Taki learned the business from the ground
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