是男人，就要站得笔直

通过工作认识的杰克。杰克一生为了让美国了解中国文化，人民和国家而努力。他话语不多，也许因为他知道得太多。却总让人感觉一个巨大的磁场力。

杰克老了。不知从何时开始我们每年给杰克和夫人邮一张圣诞卡。今年的卡片寄出去后没有收到回卡，就感觉到杰克不行了，写不动了。果不其然，一九九九年二月四日的雅虎头版新闻有一条，John Stewart Service 因心脏病逝世于他在加州奥克兰的老年公寓，一个与近代美中关系息息相关的人生啊。

刚刚一年前，杰克用打字机打印然后用复印机复印了一张仆告，结婚五十多年的爱妻卡罗琳（Caroline）在圣诞之前过世了。看了觉得心里难受，和卡罗琳见过几面，老太太人很和善。尽管知道杰克是不折不扣的真汉子，这毕竟是人生艰难的时刻，就邀请他来伯克利的吃周末早午餐(Sunday Brunch)。这家中餐馆营售比较传统的中国食品，比如油条豆浆，红油抄手，小笼包，葱油饼等等。这些食品最起码看上去很地道。上个世纪初杰克出生于四川成都一个西方传教士家庭。能吃到儿时喜欢的食品也是人生乐事。时间不饶人哩，杰克的健康状态越来越差，两眼几乎失明了，体重明显下降，看上去像一只戴着墨镜的大鸟。

他不喜欢麻烦别人开车接送；可是实在没有办法了。去年最后一次看到杰克，他的头脑依然清晰，知识渊博。每次都会把所有家人都问到，嘘寒问暖。

那天在餐馆看到了邻桌的陈省身教授和家人，杰克，一个88岁患有癌症的人，起身走过去向陈教授夫妇问好，话语平静而清晰。陈教授和杰克同时在加州大学伯克利分校供过职，老相识了。几个人笑呵呵的，比赛着讲述自己身体有几个器官失去功能了，好像得了勋章一样。听得人从幽默里感受一种伤痛和无奈。

尽管年龄相差50多岁，杰克从来没有拒绝过我的邀请，他向来待人热情大方，亲近的人都很赞赏杰克的为人。从不把自己当作名人，尽管他的一生比这个自吹自擂华而不实文化疯养的那些名人要高大深刻何止千倍万倍。杰克和我有缘分也因为我不是追星族，我把杰克当平常人看待。平常心，澄明眼里才能看到这个人的高大。他自己平等待人，尊重他人，热情付出，他眼里只有朋友和孩子。杰克身上令人最珍惜是时那种跨越了时间和文化的平等感。你不装腔作势，他马上视你为朋友。

五年前，也是同一个餐馆，邀请杰克和卡罗琳吃周日早中餐合吃，庆祝他们结婚五十周年。两人讲述了当年杰克驻扎昆明，因为卡罗琳的入境手续不齐，杰克乘火车去越南的海防市和卡罗琳结婚。杰克的外交官身份使他可以自由出入中国。而海防市是境外最近的城市了。那是个世事纷繁的时代，但是故事从他们两口子嘴里说出却不显任何动乱情绪。五十年后依然平静，笑声朗朗。

杰克喜欢四川榨菜肉丝面，就给他叫了一碗。面来了，他就开始给每个人碗里拨，好像全世界的人都在馋他儿时喜爱的汤面。大家都笑拒了，看着他一个人吃一大碗面，吃得那个面色红润，还一个劲地呼哧着，喝完最后一点儿剩汤。本来是个干净人，可是吃起喜欢的汤面来，却能溅起许多浪花。我犯了个错误，试图帮他擦桌子上的汤迹。他哼哼唧唧，很不情愿，说我影响他的兴致。卡罗琳呵斥他，对孩子说话要客气一些。然后，人人嬉笑颜开，北加州的周日，阳光明媚。

认识杰克的人常常讲起他一旦踏上中国的国土就立刻变成另一个人样，那个他30年代，40年代，70年代和80年代去过很多次的国家。“好像他能从脚下的土地获取能量。”北京街头的人们像见到熟人一样和他打招呼，“谢伟思，您好!”中国是他的故土，太熟悉了，他能带着当地人游览北京，给人们讲述秀水街何处有当年义和团运动是留下的枪眼。人就是活历史书，但就是从来不吹嘘自己知道多少。

刚认识不久，我请求杰克帮我看看我正在写的童年时代回忆录。杰克曾经是加州大学出版社的优秀编辑呢。少不更事，拿自己不入眼的文字麻烦杰克，但是杰克毫不在意，仔细阅读了语言幼稚的故事，然后请我吃午饭。那次午饭在退休老人中心可算是精心设计。跟在杰克和卡罗琳身后盛自助餐，听到餐厅另一端有老人高声问候，“杰克，卡罗琳，带着小年轻人来吃饭哪？”这里有人来访，特别是年青人来访是件大事。杰克偷偷地笑着，看也不看那些妒忌的人群。哦，我的故事，“泪水太多。”没词了，这也太像杰克说的话了。

在杰克的追悼会上，杰克的儿子们（也都50-60岁了）讲述了“作为男人”是父亲许多年来教育他们的主题。很显然一个男人不能泪水太多，不管处境多么艰难。

“泪水太多。”这句话我不会忘记，特别是出自一个一生忍受了太多的人之口。这是一句值得代代相传的话，特别当我们和我们的儿女觉得不堪重负之时，光荣和屈辱一般的沉重哦。

杰克的普通话和四川话说得都很地道流利，能够和川地的山民绕口令呢。出租车司机如果试图在城里弯弯绕来宰外国游客，那洋相就出大了。杰克可以告诉出租车司机在北京，重庆，成都如何走胡同，抄近道，让司机脸红。

杰克博学，因为他每天都在学，对知识如饥似渴。有一天他给我看一份中文报纸，问我墨尔本这三个字是什么意思，啊，澳大利亚的城市名称。中国大陆这些年的翻译系统让老人犯糊涂了。杰克最烦的是广东籍华人在他面前显摆普通话。那天杰克是专门带来翻译，可是那些自认为中文地道的人楞是不让他插话。杰克生气了就要戏弄人的，当场就用非常标准的普通话大声说，“天不怕，地不怕，就怕广东佬说官话”。八十岁了，用了玩笑的口气，老顽童的角色也扮演得惟妙惟肖。我都笑岔气了，这也太好玩了。

有人会说杰克说话尖刻。或者说，有些人认为杰克应该一脸苦相，因为他毕竟是美国历史上臭名昭著的麦卡锡主义(McCarthyism)首当其冲的受害者，当年工作权利被剥夺，举国羞辱，锒铛入狱。而我看到的杰克没有任何痛苦和受害者的可怜相。老人对浅薄和装蒜不留情面，毕竟是经受了东西方大智慧洗礼的人，悉心学习了，努力修为了，保持了一双洞悉真实和事实的慧眼。他就是这样做工作汇报，也是这样过的日子。六十多年前，他的确赞扬过毛泽东，朱德，周恩来，还有其他延安人，尽管那时西方一致痛恨共产党。杰克向美国国务院的推荐承认红色政权是因为他目睹了蒋介石和他的同僚高度腐化，而毛和红军十分清廉志在拯救中国。杰克是对的，尽管他自己的个人意识形态和共产党差别巨大。杰克错了，因为替共党说话被羁押入狱。杰克凭良心说话，他的良心是闪亮的，能够穿透气量狭窄的卑劣党派论者。几十年之后，他对天安门广场的流血事件依然感到深深的不安。

独立思考，不为个人得失而同任何人任何政党建立同盟。他同普通老百姓血肉相连，他热爱平常人的生活，这样的平常心态让他保持了本色。他站在了一个人在任何社会都不敢站立的立场，也付出了巨大的代价，却也从不后悔。追逐潮流，赶时髦的事情他是绝然不会干的。杰克不会为了一碗汤面而去参加什么劳什子会馆。让意识形态见鬼去吧。就这样，他的一生成就了高层次的名流，知他懂他的人一辈子都在纪念他，而不是一时半时的追逐和附和。杰克是颗星，其他人充其量就是一扫而过的流星。

杰克走了。我一直记得这个正直的男人。他一辈子都在寻找并捍卫人的正直感。他不止一次地失望过，但是从来不会有太多眼泪。

英文写于一九九九年二月九日。中文翻译于二零一二年二月二十八日

Being a Man 

I came to know Jack through work as Jack had been active in fostering understanding of China as a culture, a nation and a people, in the United States. Jack was a quiet man. Maybe he knew too much. Yet I felt, and can still feel the gravity in him as a man. 

Jack was aging. I don't remember when I started to send Christmas cards to him and his wife. This year I sent him a card but didn't get one back. My guess was that Jack had become too weak to write. On February 4, 1999, it became Breaking News on Yahoo that John Stewart Service had passed away due to heart disease in his retirement home in Oakland, California. When one reads about Jack, one also delves into some important lessons of the modern history of Sino-US relations. 

Just a year ago, Jack sent a Xerox copy of a typewriter-produced announcement that Caroline, his wife of more than fifty years, had passed away shortly before Christmas. I was saddened because I had the privilege to have met Caroline a few times and she was a very kind person. Jack was a strong man in every sense of the word; still on that occasion we decided to invite him to have Chinese brunch at a restaurant in Berkeley. The restaurant served some authentic Chinese items, such as soybean milk and Chinese oil stick as they called it here in America, wanton in red chilly sauce, steamed buns, onion cakes, et al. At least they looked authentic. Jack was born in Chengdu, Sichuan, child of a missionary family at the beginning of last century. It always brought him great pleasure to have those favorite dishes of his childhood. However, as years passed, Jack's health also eroded. He had lost most of his vision from both eyes and a lot of weight and thus looked like a bird with sunglasses. 

It pained him a little to ask others to give him a ride back and forth; only this time he had no choice. Up to last year when I saw him for the final time his mind was still sharp, his intellect intact. Like always, he asked about everyone and everything in our life. 

When we spotted Professor S.S. Chern (Chen Xingshen) and his family in the same restaurant, Jack got up, cancer and all, and all 88 years of him, and went to Professor and Mrs. Chern to say hello in his clear and quiet way. They knew each other from their days working as faculty and staff at the University of California at Berkeley. They bragged, in whispering giggles, about how many parts of their bodies had gone rotten as if broken organs were medals of honor. It was humorously somber for me as a youngster. 

Although there was more than 50 years between us, I didn't remember even once that Jack ever turned down an invitation from us. He was generous with his time and warmth, something that was appreciated by all around him. It never crossed Jack's mind that he was a celebrity, even though his life amounted to a thousand times bigger or deeper than any of the shallow figures coming down to us from all walks of life in this incredibly self-making and self-promoting culture. My blessing had been that I am not a star-gazer thus never looked up at him up as a celebrity type. Only with the eyes of the ordinary and for the ordinary I could felt the height of that man. Jack simply treated everyone equally with respect and affection and talked ordinarily like we were his friends or children. I always treasured the equality he radiated across time and cultures. He made instant connections with you when you didn't pretend to be someone else. 

About five years ago in the same restaurant, we invited Jack and Caroline to have Sunday brunch with us. It was their 50th Anniversary. They told us about how Jack who was stationed in Kunming at the time had to travel to Haiphong (Vietnam) by train to get married with Caroline because she had trouble getting her travel papers straight to China and Jack had diplomatic privilege thus could get in and out of China freely. Haiphong was the closest point they could meet and get married. It must have been a hectic time but the way the story was told did not reflected any of the tumult. Fifty years later it was all serenity with a few giggles. 

Jack loved Sichuan pickled noodles. We ordered a bowl just for him. Still he thought that everyone should have some; in his mind the entire world must have been craving for the soupy noodles ever since he was a child. We smiled at him and let him have the whole bowl all by himself. So, there he was, slurping his way to the last drop of the soup. It made his face glow. He was a neat person, except when facing down to a bowl of his favorite noodles. I made the mistake of cleaning up after him. He hissed at me for meddling with his joy. But Caroline straightened him up by pointing out that he should be polite in front of children. It was all good fun on a sunny Sunday morning in Northern California. 

Those who knew Jack have stories about how he became a different person once he landed in China, where he had returned many times in the 30s and 40s and again in the 70s and 80s. "He seemed to draw energy from the land beneath." People would say hello to him in the streets of Beijing. "Xie Weisi, ninhao!" China was his homeland. So much so that he could lead many of us on a tour of Beijing streets and tell us which street was called the Water Street and still bears the bullet holes from the days of the Boxer Rebellion. Jack was walking history and yet he never bragged about anything he knew. 

Shortly after I met Jack through work, I presented part of my humble writing about my childhood and asked Jack to read and critique. He was also an excellent editor at the University of California Press. It was thoughtless of me to throw some insignificant work at Jack but he didn't seem to mind at all. He patiently read through my clumsy writing and invited me to lunch. The lunch was quite a show in the retirement center. When Jack and Caroline led me through the buffet tables, other folks shouted across the dining hall at them. "Jack, Caroline, having a young man for lunch, eh?" It was a big deal for them to have visitors, especially young people. Jack was happy to show off this way as he smiled his secret smile without looking at the envious crowd. Ah, about my writing: "it's too tearful." That was all he said. It sounded so much like Jack. 

At his funeral, I learned from his children (who are now in their fifties or even sixties) that "being a man" was what Jack taught them to become through the years. A man shouldn't be too tearful, obviously, no matter how tough the going was in life. 

"Too tearful." I shall never forget that. Those words came from a man who had endured so much in his life. It was a phrase worth passing down to many generations when we or our children feel that we could no longer carry the weight thrown on our shoulders, be it glory or misery. 

Jack spoke impeccable Mandarin and Sichuanese and could hold a fast and musical conversation with villagers in the heartland of Sichuan. It was always a grave mistake if a taxi driver tried to circle the city in order to charge extra. Jack could tell him which Hutong to zigzag in Beijing or Chongqing and Chengdu and put the cabbie in deep shame. 

Jack's incredible knowledge came from non-stop learning as he had this "incredible thirst for knowledge." One day he presented this Chinese newspaper and asked me what those three Chinese characters meant in the name of the City of Melbourne. The translation system in Mainland China has become confusing through the years. Of course he made fun of those Chinese Americans of Cantonese descent who tried to show off their Mandarin in front of him. Jack made fun of them only because they wouldn't let Jack be the interpreter, which was what he was there for that day. So he said out loud in perfect Mandarin, "Ain't afraid of Heaven, Ain't afraid of earth, but scared to death to listen to Cantonese trying to speak Mandarin." He at age of 80 was of course joking, acting as an old fool in a Chinese way only he knew. I laughed my wits out, it was plain hilarious. 

Some people might complain that Jack was salty in his talks. Rather, let's put it this way, some people expected him to be bitter because he was a direct victim of the infamous McCarthyism. He was jailed and his career was destroyed in front of national audience. But Jack as I saw him was a person way above any petty bitterness or victimhood. He might sound a bit impatient with shallowness and pretentiousness, simply because he was a man who soaked into the wisdom of two worlds and got the best of his opportunities in terms of learning and self-enrichment. Jack solicited no sympathy or pity from any one simply because not many in the entire world was stronger than he was. Jack kept his eye on "the true facts as he saw them." He reported that way on his job and lived that way in his life. He might have praised Mao Zedong, Zhu De and Zhou Enlai and others in Yan'an some 60 years ago when Communists were uniformly condemned in the West. Jack based his recommendation on the distinction that Chiang Kai-shek and his gang were highly corrupted while Mao and his Red Army were clean and aspired to "save China" thus China would the Mao's and the US would be better off to foster a relationship with Mao. Jack was right, in spite of huge ideological differences. Jack was wrong because he was prosecuted for speaking for the Communists. Jack spoke his mind because his mind was sharper and more penetrating than mean-spirited ideologues. Decades later he was deeply bothered by the bloodshed in Tiananmen Square. 

Jack thought for himself, and he wouldn't form alliance with anyone or any ideology in life for personal gain. His connection with the ordinary folks and everyday life was too strong to inflate himself. He took a stance that was hard for any individual in any society. He paid a price but there was nothing to regret. He would not stoop himself for a trend. Jack didn't want to join a club for a bowl of noodles. Damn any ideology. As a result, he became a higher celebrity and merited more celebration than any short-lived glamour in the minds of those who truly appreciated him. Jack was a star while others could be only comets at their best. 

Now, Jack has passed away. All I can remember about him was "he was a decent man." All his life, he had been searching for and defending human decency. He was disappointed many times but he was never too tearful. 

February 9, 1999