RHYSBOWEN: I always pictured FBI agents as steely-eyed, ruthless and scary. That
was before I met George Fong. He is kind, generous, with a great sense of humor
and yet he has had a distinguished career involving many high profile crimes,
drug busts, murders, kidnappings. And now he has written his first novel and I’m
delighted to have him here as our guest on Jungle Red. So welcome, George. The
stage is yours:
GEORGE FONG: When Rhys Bowen asked me if I would be interested in writing a
blog for the Jungle Red Writers, I was elated.
Then I got worried.
In my prior
life as a federal agent with the FBI, I have briefed Senators, Premiers, and
foreign dignitaries throughout the world and was comfortable – dare I say –
confident.
Twenty-seven years on the job
gave me comfort.
But this one made me
sweat.
That night, I went to bed
thinking of all the cases I have investigated, all the undercover assignments
and thought –
The Jungle Red Writers
don’t want to hear your war stories. Mystery
writers have heard them all. Don’t
get me wrong, I enjoy speaking about the cases I have worked on, doing so at
many conferences and writer’s groups.
But as much as I think procedures are important to a story, I have found
what forms a protagonist’s character and perspective on life is far more
interesting.
It was something I have learned
from the many writers that have helped me in my writing endeavors over the years.
And so, for this blog, I want to tell you
about something I recently observed and how it affected me.
I hope you find it interesting.
.
Looking Out the
Window
Last week, my wife Rebecca and my daughter Rachel decided
that we should attend the
Newport Beach Boat Parade, one of the top ten things
to do during the holidays, according to their website.
Touristy things never sounded good, being
local to the area but the idea felt like the right thing to do.
It brought a bit of normalcy to a life that -
in the past as a federal agent - was usually crowed with bad news.
I spent 27 years as a Special Agent with the FBI before
retiring in 2010. During that time in my
life, holidays and family functions were usually – if not the norm –
interrupted by a kidnapping, a drug delivery or a gang shooting. On the phone or off to meet with an
informant, my time rarely belonged to me, let alone my family. When I retired, I took on a new job – Head of
Security for ESPN, the Worldwide Leader in Sports. The job offers different challenges that
after four years, gave me a huge perspective on what really is a crisis. Take that boat parade as an example.
We departed the house mid afternoon, hoping to catch a bite
on the pier before hopping aboard The
Amigo, a ferry that would tour us around Balboa Island to watch the
colorful lights hung on multi-million dollar yachts as well the ocean view
homes encircling the bay.
Driving to the pier, we passed an endless line of parked
cars and lots with signs stating “LOT FULL.”
Nearly two miles from our destination, finding a place to park going
forward was going to be a lost cause.
As we entered Balboa, an hour had passed and still, no sign
of an open space. We pulled into a public parking lot and decided to wait for
someone to leave. Three others had the
same idea. It was another 20 minutes
before a family walked up to a car parked close by, getting ready to
leave.
One of the waiting cars, a woman
driving an SUV, crept forward in an attempt to claim the spot but before she
could get into position, a large black SUV sped forward, positioned to claim
the open slot. I watched as the driver
of the black SUV refused to give in, even though others had been waiting for
quite some time.
The two vehicles
lurched and braked, squaring off like a pair of angry dogs, challenging each
other in a game of chicken. A little
girl exited the back of the black SUV, watching the two 5,000 pound vehicles
dare each other to see who would be willing to bend metal over a parking space.
Muffled words were exchanged between the two, the message clear from their hand
gestures.
Just then, another woman walked up and entered another car
next to mine. Rebecca hopped out of the car, confirmed the lady was departing –
cheered – and gave me the thumbs up sign.
I was elated, knowing we would still have time to catch a quick bite
before hopping on board the ferry. I started to ease forward.
As I started to pull into the slot, the woman in the SUV
accelerated forward trying to take my parking space. Trying to reason with her through my open
window, the woman began to scream in a mantra of phrases that would not have
surprised me to contain the words, “Kennedy,
CIA and grassy knoll.”
The little
girl from the black SUV, who was still standing in the fray of this very
dangerous mix of vehicles, looked over at the woman and quietly remarked,
“You’re in the wrong lane.” The woman screamed
her reply, “Shut the f**k up, you little b**ch!”
It was at that moment, my world took a pause.
I was stunned at the reaction she had to an innocent remark coming from a
little girl. From the other side of the parking lot, the voice of another woman
called out, “Merry Christmas!”
We got our parking space and made it to a Bar-b-que stand
before boarding
The Amigo. As we finished the tour, the three of us
reflected on that little girl who stood in the street, unattended by her
parents while being screamed at, civility being tossed to the wind.
Then, I thought about the days as an FBI
agent, when I would meet with the parents of missing children, of finding their
child’s body in a shallow grave. The guilt I felt, being the one that gave the
news, not receiving it.
I was the person
looking out a window into a world of dangerous realities that no person should
ever have to experience.
Having seen the
woman in the parking lot screaming profanities at a little girl without
provocation and the fact that the parents of that little girl were nowhere to
be found reminded me of how people need to take a breath and reflect on the
priorities of life. What really
justifies anger and where has the holiday spirit gone?
It was at that moment that I realized I was outside
the window, looking in - with everyone else.
The difference was, I saw what it was like from the inside and knew
parking slots and aggravated crowds were nothing to get hostile about. Besides,
it’s the holiday season.
I try not to
over-analyze every situation, but I have to admit, having witnessed the worst
in society, gives you a bit more pause when things go awry.
I still get angry but in most cases, my wife
reminds me, “No one died, no one got kidnapped.”
Good point.
George Fong was
born in San Francisco, California in 1959, to a Chinese immigrant father who
joined the US Navy, met his Japanese mother in Okinawa and brought her home to
America. His father didn’t speak
Japanese, his mother, not a lick of Chinese.
After a distinguished career in the
FBI, including investigating the infamous Yosemite murders, he found a need to
write. The result is a debut novel
entitled Fragmented and is loosely based
on a kidnapping case of a ten-year-old girl when he worked as a rookie agent in
Bellingham, Washington.
RHYS: Thank you for joining us and for the insightful story, George. And good luck with the book. I can't wait to read it! George will give away a copy for his favorite comment on JRW.
