Life in America (2) Bridge Expert Zhang Fugui - 张富贵
Bridge Expert Zhang Fugui - 张富贵
In the winter of 2007, we moved to Gulf Rd, East Brunswick, New Jersey. The houses here were built in 1956, designed in a split-level style—one side with two floors and the other as a single-story structure. The front and back lawns were quite spacious. Over time, the roadside trees had grown tall and dense, their roots bulging like veins, lifting sections of the sidewalk, creating tripping hazards.
After moving in, I gradually got to know the neighbors, often exchanging greetings. Only the neighbor on the right rarely came outside, and visitors to his home were few. In over three months, I had only occasionally caught a glimpse of an elderly figure from a distance, appearing to be an Asian man.
Spring arrived. The grass turned green, and dandelions began to bloom. I mowed my own lawn, as did my neighbor across the street, which made it easier to run into each other and chat. However, the elderly Asian man had hired a lawn service, making him even harder to meet.
One day, while mowing near his property, he happened to come outside to leave in his car. I stopped the mower to greet him. He shuffled over slowly, his face lit with a warm smile. He was of medium height, had a fair complexion, moved slowly, and spoke with deliberate care. I asked if he spoke Chinese. He replied, "Yes," and we began to chat in Chinese.
He said his name was Zhang Fugui, originally from Shanxi Province, and he was 89 years old. He was one of the first residents on this street, having moved here in 1956 when the neighborhood was newly developed and not yet fully built. I asked when he had come to the U.S. He said “1946”.
At that time, he was a student studying bridge design at Tangshan Jiaotong University (also known as Tangshan Railway Institute, the predecessor of Southwest Jiaotong University) and was a student of the renowned bridge expert “Mao Yisheng” （茅以升）. He had passed the national exams to become a government-sponsored student sent abroad by the Nationalist government (Kuomintang). His first year in the U.S. was funded by the government, but after that, he received no further support. He relied on part-time jobs and school scholarships to continue his studies.
He lost contact with the Nationalist government after they retreated to Taiwan following the loss of mainland China. After earning his undergraduate degree, he pursued graduate studies. I didn’t ask whether he obtained a master’s or a doctorate, but I suspect it was a doctorate, as a master’s in engineering wouldn’t have been as significant at the time.
Since the Nationalist government offices in mainland China no longer existed, and he had no interest in relocating to Taiwan, he chose to remain in the U.S. Due to his academic excellence, he quickly secured employment.
He told me he had always worked in bridge design, contributing to the design of several bridges in New York City. His name, along with those of other designers, was engraved on the bridge piers of some of the bridges he helped design. His English name was Chang Fu-Kuei, and he encouraged me to go see them. I never did, but I believed his story.
After China’s reform and opening up in 1978, he returned to China several times, visiting his former mentor Mao Yisheng. He even flew back to celebrate his teacher’s birthday with other alumni.
I found his life story fascinating—he was likely among the last group of Chinese students sent to the U.S. by the Nationalist government. Despite the challenges, he completed his education on his own and made outstanding contributions to his field.
Over time, we had a few more brief conversations.
He had a granddaughter attending college nearby who stayed with him on weekends, but she never ventured outside. In the three years I lived there, I never saw her. Occasionally, he’d drive himself to buy groceries or visit the library to read the newspaper.
A few times, I saw a middle-aged white man accompanied by a boy around 11 or 12 visiting him. They were likely his relatives, though I never found out if they were his son and grandson or his son-in-law and another grandchild. However, it was clear that his grandchildren were of mixed race. Since very few Chinese came to the U.S. for studies during his time, I assumed he married an American woman, which explains the mixed heritage of his descendants. But I found later that I was wrong. He married a Chinese woman, but his children married with non Chinese.
Neither he nor his granddaughter ever went for walks—they were very reclusive. It was unusual for a college-aged girl to stay indoors all the time.
In the fall of 2010, when we were moving out, we had a lot of items to discard. A Korean neighbor mentioned that if there were too many items, the garbage company might refuse to collect them. I asked some neighbors if I could leave a few items near their curbs—just small amounts to avoid overloading the garbage truck. They all declined except for Mr. Zhang, who immediately agreed, saying I could leave as much as I wanted as long as it didn’t block traffic. Despite having the least interaction with him, his kindness deeply touched me.
Living in the U.S. often requires direct communication with government offices or companies. Relying on hearsay—especially from non-native English speakers—can lead to misinformation, misunderstandings, or outdated information.
In August 2015, I invited Mr. Shu Shaoping, former director of the Zhijiang County Cultural Center, to give a lecture on the 70th anniversary of Japan’s surrender in Zhijiang. I took him to see my old house (just from the outside) and shared stories of the neighborhood. By chance, Mr. Zhang was returning home. I approached to greet him, and he was delighted to see me, his face beaming with smiles. Though he still walked, his steps were even slower, with a slight shuffle. His mind remained sharp, and despite speaking slowly, he was articulate.
He invited us inside, but we declined to avoid troubling him, instead chatting for about half an hour at the door.
As a writer, Mr. Shu was deeply interested in Mr. Zhang’s life story. Through him, we learned much about the lesser-known history of the Nationalist government’s final years of sending students abroad, the experiences of Chinese Americans, and their struggles in the U.S. It was a meaningful encounter, far more engaging than simply taking photos of buildings.
I’ve since moved to another state and haven’t visited Mr. Zhang in a long time. He should be over 100 years old now. I looked him up online and found that the house is still in his name—he’s still alive.
Lewei Shang, Written in 2021*
A reader later provided the following information:
Fu-Kuei Chang, of East Brunswick, passed away Thursday, April 8, 2021 at home. He was 101.
Born in Shansi Province, China, he came to the United States in 1945 to get his PHD from Lehigh University in Bethlehem PA. He lived in Queens before moving to East Brunswick several years ago.
Mr. Chang was a civil engineer. He worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad after receiving his PHD. He retired from Amman & Whitney in NYC in 1995.
He enjoyed watching the news and really loved being with his grandchildren.
He's predeceased by his wife Chang Chwan Chan (d. 1970). Surviving is his son and daughter-in-law Stewart and Victoria Chang of Capitola, CA; his daughter and son-in-law Annette and Martin Similuk of Frederick, MD; his beloved grandchildren Elise, Matthew, Joshua and Lois; and his great grandchildren Henry, Ailey, George, June and Harry.
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