The Duke and Henry Chew
I was returning from a meeting at a customer’s office and noticed a tall man in front of me headed for the Bank of America’s Singapore Branch. His gait and bearing were familiar, but where had I seen him?
He stopped to check his watch; I went into the bank and turned around as John Wayne entered. He was one of my favorite actors. Transfixed, I stared at him; he nodded with a crooked smile.
“When I was a boy, my father took me to The Sands of Iwo Jima; you were Sergeant Stryker back then.”
“We’ve both aged since then, haven’t we, Pilgrim?”
“‘Pilgrim.’ You called Jimmy Stewart ‘Pilgrim’ in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, didn’t you?”
“First time I used it.”
“It was that restaurant scene when you, Lee Marvin and Jimmy Stewart faced off. Great scene in a great movie.”
“Thanks. Missed any of mine?”
“I’ve seen all your westerns and war movies.”
“Did you father serve in the war?”
“He was a Coast Guard officer, a marine engineer — wharfs and docks mostly. He served in the Pacific and the Atlantic.”
“How old was you father when the war started?”
“Ah, he turned thirty-six the October before Pearl Harbor.”
“He likes my movies?”
“Loved them; especially the John Ford westerns. He could do a convincing impression of you.”
“Take it he passed away?”
“Yes, not long ago.”
“Miss him?”
“I do. Say, may I help you? Need a check cashed or Singapore Dollars?”
“So you’re a banker way out here east of Suez — count the money or lend it?”
“I’m a loan officer.”
“No need for dollars, Singapore or otherwise. But I’m looking for a man; name’s Henry Chew.”
“He’s the operations officer. You’ve got a score to settle with him?”
“No gun play, not today anyway. Friends told me that Henry’s a big fan of mine; they want me to surprise him.”
Hollywood studios were shooting a lot of films in Singapore in the 1970s. Movie stars were in abundance; I had bumped into David Niven on the street. One of the big studios had opened a Singapore Dollar account with us; and Henry, a serious movie buff, befriended the Hollywood people and made sure the account operated without a hitch. Short and stout, when Henry laughed, he looked like those small statues of the laughing Buddha.
People had gathered in groups and were murmuring and pointing. Making our way to Henry’s desk behind the teller line, John Wayne smiled, said hello or thank you, and patted a few of the men on the shoulder. We were buzzed in and approached Henry who was head-down absorbed in a report. I said, “Henry, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
He waved his hands and didn’t look up, “Give me ten minutes, please. Got to get this report to the Regional Office.”
“Well, Pilgrim, looks like Henry’s busy; let’s saddle up.”
Henry looked up, blinked, closed his eyes and said, “John Wayne, really?”
“Yup.”
Henry looked at me, “You know him?”
“From all his movies, I feel like I do. Actually, I just met him in the lobby; he wants to meet you.”
“Oh, dear, Mr. Wayne, for a second, I thought I’d had a stroke or had gone crazy.”
“My friends call me Duke.”
Henry stood up, wobbling, “Took me by surprise, Mr. Wayne.”
“I’m not going to tell you again, it’s Duke.” He put out his hand. “Friends from Hollywood think you’d enjoy meeting me and joining us for lunch. But I just barged in here; maybe that report’s more important.”
Henry stammered in Chinese. I said, “Henry, English.”
“Sure, lunch fine, where ?”
“My friends are waiting at the Shangri-La Hotel up the way.”
Henry handed me his report. “The facts and numbers are good. Correct the English, have it retyped and get it to the Regional Office by 3:00 this afternoon.”
“Sure.”
Henry started checking his phone messages.
“Henry, to hell with the messages. It’s lunch with John Wayne!”
Henry was laughing and shaking his head. “Let’s take my car Mr… Sorry, Duke, let’s take my car. I’ll bring it around.”
John Wayne shook my hand, “Too bad you can’t join us.”
“Priorities. My father would’ve loved this.”
“Grief softens with time. Be steady, Pilgrim.”
“I shall.”
“I shall what?”
“I shall, Duke.”
He shook my shoulders and walked away like he did in the movies.
FOOTNOTE:
My father was two years older than John Wayne and didn’t have to serve in the war because of his age, but he did. John Wayne did not serve. From a recent biography of John Wayne, that decision always troubled him.
