Annie Laurie

San Francisco Examiner/February 12, 1909

AH SAM doesn’t know a thing.

Not a thing.

He can’t imagine why the president of the Sorosis Club was cross when she had to leave the comfortable seclusion of her rubber tired auto for the dingy courtroom to be held as a witness in the case of the State of California against Ah Sam.

He doesn’t see what the president of the Pacific Union sees in a harmless subpoena to fill him with amazed wrath.

He’s meek and mild and deprecating, a little bit surprised, but perfectly calm, is Ah Sam—but he has not as yet instructed his lawyer to withdraw the subpoenas and let his smart witnesses off from coming to the courtroom next Tuesday morning, just as If they were plain little brown persons, with a shuffle and a cue.

AH SAM sat in the office of his attorney, Mr. Countryman, yesterday, and looked exactly like a funny little toy Buddha carved out of a nut to make a moment’s laughter for a group of slant-eyed children.

He is little and wizened and dried up, and wrinkled, and as yellowish brown as an old-fashioned gourd which stood too long in the sun before it was rightly seasoned.

His interpreter sat beside him, a large, moon-faced rather impressive person, with a smile that meant everything—and nothing.

Ah Sam didn’t care to talk about his case, the interpreter said, but If I insisted, of course, he—and then I began trying to find out something about Ah Sam, and Ah Sam’s reasons for his weird and peculiar performances in dragging innocent and perfectly harmless bridge-players end high-minded and absolutely innocuous poker players into this vulgar discussion concerning Chinese gambling.

“HE belongs,” said the interpreter, waving his large yet well-kept yellow hand deprecatingly in the direction of little unwinking Ah Sam, “to a gentleman’s club, a Chinese gentleman’s club. It Is $10 for entrance and a month for the dues.

“He was sitting,” he said, “watching some friends of his in the club play dominoes, and a white policeman knocked on the door.”

Ah Sam raised his small and neatly booted foot and gave a firm kick at the ambient air. His face didn’t change by the moving of a wrinkle, but the Interpreter hastily corrected his statement about the policeman.

“He says the policeman kicked on the door, he did not knock,” said the interpreter, “and then the door was broken in, and all the men who were playing and those who were watching were taken to prison.”

Ah Sam, who did not understand one word of English, so the interpreter and the lawyer both declared, leaned forward and plucked the interpreter by his broadcloth sleeve. Then he put his thin hand in the air and clutched with it as if he were taking some one by the collar.

“He says,” said the interpreter, “they were dragged to prison, not taken.”

“That’s all.”

“He wasn’t playing fan tan?” I Inquired. Ah Sam’s eyes were shocked, but the interpreter remained calm.

“No,” said the interpreter, “dominoes, or looking on at dominoes. He wasn’t playing himself.”

“He plays poker?”

“Yes,” said the interpreter, when he had inquired, “he plays poker. He learned, he says, in San Francisco. It is not, he says, a Chinese game.”

“Why does he drag all these white people into this case?”

At the repetition of the question Ah Sam’s small eyes sparkled with virtuous amazement. He meowed something volubly, bethought himself and crossed his hands placidly again.

“He has not called them,” said the interpreter, “they were subpoenaed by the white man’s laws, and by the white man’s law they must answer.”

“Does he resent the white man’s habit of breaking in on his quiet club, and is he trying to habit of breaking in on his quiet club, and is he trying to teach us a nice little lesson to illustrate the old saying that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander?”

THE interpreter questioned and Ah Sam patiently shook his wizened little head, and meowed again.

“No,” said the Interpreter, “he is not teaching anything, he but follows the law, the white man’s law. He is a good citizen and wishes to obey the law in all things.”

And Ah Sam nodded as the toy Buddhas nod when you shake the shelf they stand upon, and the interview, if you can call it an interview, was over.

What was it in the old verse about the game Ah Sam did not understand? I wonder what Ah Sam really does understand in this particular game he seems to be trying to play, or whether—but what’s the use of wondering? Ah Sam will never tell.