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China Our Matchmaker

July 19th, 1988

Dear Angela and Art,

With the OSI behind and grad school ahead, I determined to avoid all distractions so I could get to China as soon as possible. Eyes glued to my textbooks, my world shrank to the confines of my small on – campus apartment, classrooms, library and cafeteria. But as yuánfèn would have it, Chuck and Donna Saunders, two American friends from Taiwan, lived only two miles from me. On Easter Sun-day, they invited me and 10 other youth for Easter lunch. That lunch changed my life.

No sooner had I crossed their threshold than I saw a young, blond, blue-eyed California girl who was, as the Chinese saying goes, “beautiful enough to eat” (Xiùsèkěcān秀色可餐).

Half a dozen young men surrounded her but I feigned indifference – all the while covertly studying every inch of her face and form. But even though I’d been out of the OSI only a few months, my surveillance skills had slipped. In my nonchalance I nearly walked into a wall. “Love at first sight.” (Yījiànzhōngqíng一见钟情). Decades later, she still has the same effect on me.

Sue never glanced in my direction until that evening, when a friend shared how I’d almost died the previous evening while cliff climbing. It wasn’t a good first impression. But then Chuck asked her, “Sue, did you know that Bill lived in Taiwan and wants to go to China?”

“Really? When were you in Taiwan?” she asked.

She was talking to me! “From 1976 to 1978. Have you been to Taiwan?”

“I was born and raised there!” she said. “But I was in the U.S. when you were in Taiwan, so we just missed each other!”

The ice broke and I plunged beneath, never in this life to resurface.

I invited Sue to a free concert on Thursday evening by the Franciscan musician Sebastian Temple. I counted not just the days but the hours. I don’t remember any of the music, but it felt like I’d known Sue all my life – right up until time to say goodbye. I gave Sue a timid hug. Sue reciprocated with a kiss that sizzled my socks. The ice that had broken on Sunday now pooled in steamy puddles about my feet.

My second date was a potluck dinner with African students. But freebie dates can’t last for-ever, at least in America. For our third date, I splurged and invited Sue out to dinner. She showed up in a stunning evening dress and heels, expecting an evening like those she’d had with her previous beau, Jon. I took her to a cheap fast food outlet. Jon had spent more money parking his car than I spent on our dinner.

Happily for me, Sue overlooked my seeming poverty.

From our first date until our December wedding in Taiwan, Sue and I saw each other at least once a day – with the exception of July 4th. Sue headed to the beach with friends and I retreated to a Benedictine monastery in the high desert of Valyermo, just north of Los Angeles. Valyermo was started by Benedictine monks who left China in 1952. I loved old Thaddeus Yang’s tall tales of the mysterious Middle Kingdom, and the monks’ dedication to serving the poor – and their sense of humor. Father Dominic, a giant of a man, prowled about at night in his long robe and a Darth Vader helmet, scaring the life out of his poor parishioners.

But after three months of daily dates, I began to get cold feet. I knew I’d never find another Amer-ican girl born and raised in Taiwan and interested in China. Sue was one of a kind. But could she han-dle life in the mainland of China? “If you can, so can I,” she insisted, but I wasn’t convinced.

On August 2, 1981, I wrote a letter to Sue’s parents, telling them I was looking forward to meeting them in December. I had no idea that two days later we’d be engaged.

The next evening, in the dorm parking lot, I tried to break up with Sue. I listed the reasons I could never marry. Sue listened quietly, and I mentally kicked myself. And out of the blue, the most unromantic proposal bypassed my brain and high dived off my tongue. I blurted out, “Since we’re visiting Taiwan in December, maybe we could get married there?”

Sue laughed. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

I was as shocked as Sue, but for her to laugh in my face was a bit much. “No, I’m serious!”

Sue’s eyes widened. “Yes, I’ll marry you!”

Tying the Double Knot in Taipei

Sue’s mother and half of the Taiwan foreign community spent months planning our wed-ding at Taipei’s Christ’s Chapel, but Uncle Sam recognized only the perfunctory Chinese court ceremony, so we tied the knot twice. On December 10th, 1981, Sue and I, and two Chinese couples, pinned giant red foam flowers on each other, bowed to the bored judge and the gaudy neon dragon behind him, bowed to the audience and to each other, and with neither a word nor a kiss were wed, at least on paper. Sue’s mother, who was still unsure of the ex-G.I. she had met only four days earlier, put more stock in church aisles than judge’s benches and I still had to sleep on the couch until after the Sunday ceremony in the round chapel of Christ’s College, near the port town of Danshui.

The chapel was packed but I remember little except that the minister, David Woodward, had been a missionary who had traveled to Tibet on horseback. I was so nervous that I felt like traipsing to Tibet myself, but Dad Allison had my plane tickets and passport. He was relieved to see his only daughter taken off the field and was not taking any chances.

After the wedding, we cut our Chinese wedding cake with a gleaming sword and stuffed a piece in each other’s mouth. Happily, it wasn’t the lard and sawdust cake we’d expected.

While in grad school, I started a business to pay off school debts and save for China. I was delighted when the business flourished and the six-figure income allowed me to give Sue the lifestyle she’d given up to marry a poor student. But the more we lived the so-called American Dream, the more I worried, “Could Sue give this up for China? Or could I?”

In September, 1987, I hesitantly asked Sue, “What would you think of selling our business now so I can finish my PhD dissertation, and then we move to China?” It was poor timing. Sue was nursing Shannon and pregnant with Matthew. But she said, “If you feel it is right, let’s go.”

Heard of Xiamen?　The following March, Sue had our second son, Matthew, and one month later, a stranger phoned us from Thailand. “I heard you gave up your business to study Chinese in China. Have you heard of Xiamen?”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “But my wife just had a baby, so this is not a good time for us. Maybe next year.”

One week later, yet another stranger (who didn’t know the man from Thailand) phoned us from Orange, California and said, “I heard you gave up your business to move to China? Have you heard of Xiamen?”

“Yes! Last week!” The next morning, Sue and I drove to Orange to meet with the man, who told us about XMU’s Overseas College (the first of its kind in China, started in 1956). In all of China, only XMU offered housing so a foreign language student could bring his family. But when we learned that XMU was right across the Strait from Taiwan, we were sold. By Au-gust, we’d burned our bridges and moved to Xiamen with two infants in tow – and have never regretted it.

It is said that great marriages are made in heaven, and I believe it. But given that it was our mutual interest in China that brought us together, China was our matchmaker.

Our love,

Bill and Sue