We all mourn when we lose leaders in our community—people prominent in government, church, business and other areas of life. Sometimes, we grieve at the loss of a bright light who lived a humble life of kindness. Such a person was Alice Rhett, who died in a car wreck Tuesday. Alice was doing what she did so often—helping a friend in need.
When I came to South Boston and started teaching ancient arts from China, it took me a while to realize I had a Chinese-American in class who was fluent in Mandarin and had been practicing Tai Chi for years. Alice rarely talked about herself. Instead, she always sought to encourage people around her. She seemed to be everywhere in the community—many classes at the YMCA and participating in several other groups.
With her background, she could have spent her time correcting my attempts at pronouncing Mandarin words, or references to Chinese history. Instead, she was always encouraging, yet willing to provide a detailed and educated answer if I asked for her help. A friend gave me a beautiful Chinese vase. Alice spent much time deciphering the characters on it, which seemed to have a hidden message.
One day, she told me a Chinese-American friend—a professor at a Midwestern college—was visiting her. She asked (unnecessarily) if he could visit class. Of course! Then a few weeks later she had a guest from China who did not know much English. He was a master calligrapher, and when he visited, at my request he created some beautiful characters for the wall of our classroom.
One character represented peace or tranquility. To all he knew her, Alice had a life which represented being at peace. I visited her home as we discussed the calligraphy with her friend. Alice kept patiently interpretating for us both, making sure we all understood. I expected to see a house adorned with Chinese decor. It was not. Even though friends kept offering her special Chinese artwork, she turned them down. Material things were not important to Alice. She kept her home simple. There were more important things in her life.
When her Chinese friend left, I really began to wonder about Alice’s background. She seemed to know so many professional people and was obviously highly educated herself. I hoped she would open up and tell me some of her story.
That happened the very next class. We ended with one of my favorite guided meditations called Moon and Mother Goddess. Alice had sat with us for the same meditation at least three or four times. This time, she came up to me after class to tell me a special story.
She said during the meditation she had a visualization of her grandmother in the kitchen “washing money to take to the dump” with a full moon out the window. I wondered why she was “washing money,” but didn’t want to stop her sharing with a question. For months now I have been looking for the time to ask her more about that. The story was about a great upheaval during the time of Mao’s Cultural Revolution China around 1966. Perhaps this was when money was being taken from families, as the infamous Red Guard rounded up people it identified as dissidents.
At the time, she only told me it was a special moment, a special memory, of the moon and her grandmother. Her story then continued. The Red Guard had come to their house and taken many things. Then they came back and took more. The third time, the Red Guard moved into their home. But her family was lucky, she said, because they were not kicked out on the street, homeless and penniless, as many were. Instead, they were allowed to live on the third floor of their home with a few belongings while the Red Guard stayed below.
On that awful day, her grandfather took her aside to tell her something which changed her life. I’m guessing Alice was around eight or nine. He sat the little girl down and said, “Everybody makes mistakes…Today, the government made a mistake.”
Read that again. “Everybody makes mistakes…Today, the government made a mistake.”
Alice told me what a difference that statement made in her life. Her grandfather could have been very angry and bitter. Wouldn’t most of us be that way if such a thing happened? But instead, Alice told me, it influenced her outlook for life. It made her more accepting, always focusing on hope and gratitude.
She needed that to make it through the years ahead, as she was immediately shunned at school, like the other children of families identified as dissidents. She was a virtual outcast among her peers. As she grew older, she suffered the same fate as other urban-educated youth—as a part of “re-education,” she was sent away from her family to rural farms to work in the fields.
She did not tell me how long she labored in the country away from her family. Years, I suspect. But I do not know. One of those questions I planned to ask when we finally got together again.
Eventually, the government realized that with all of the educated banished to the fields they had no one left to teach others. Her mother called her to tell her of an opportunity, saying she should apply to go back to school and learn to teach. Alice told her mom that she wasn’t ready. She needed to study some more first before applying to go back to school. But her mom said to apply now because “the government might change its mind.”
Alice did as her mother said, and instead of becoming a physician or lawyer like many in her family, she became an English teacher.
I do not know when or how she eventually got to California. Another story I wanted to hear. But because of her fluent English, she got a job as a tutor and, I believe, nanny for the children of a Hollywood director. What she told me next illustrates how very isolated from the West people in China were.
Each time she would walk in the neighborhood of the family’s home, people kept stopping to ask her, “Is this Beverly Hills? Are we in Beverly Hills?” She told them yes, but did not understand why so many people asked where they were. Finally, one day a friend called her—the same friend who went on to become a professor and had visited our class. He had seen the program Beverly Hills 90210 on TV. He called her to excitedly proclaim, “Alice, you are living somewhere famous!”
She told me a bit about how she ended up in Virginia with her husband, who had some family history in the area. There are just many details I don’t remember.
Sometime later, I texted her thanks for sharing her story with me, and how her grandfather’s words had stayed on my mind. I’m hesitant to include her full reply, but it is so Alice that I must: “Hi, Ray, Thank you for such a nice message! I’m grateful every day for the peace & freedom I enjoy in life. To attend your Qi Gong classes & further connect with the universe & my inner self is taking my contentment to another level. I have some friends who regularly call saying they’d like to do so because I appear to be always happy & calm 😀. I appreciate their sentiment. Having gone through a lot, I see no reason to complain about anything. I’m sure you & Marina, and everyone else, have interesting stories too. I xiexie (thank you) very much your kind thoughts! 🙏”
These words will also stay with me for a long time: “Having gone through a lot, I see no reason to complain about anything.” What a goal to have in life.
In class, Alice was always quiet, but I could see her eyes light up occasionally. The last time I remember this happening was when I shared an ancient Chinese saying I had just learned. It is about what happens if we only focus on perfecting the physical movements of the practice instead of the internal awareness: “You kept the beautiful box and returned the pearl.” Fascinated with the form, with the outward, material things, we don’t see the true value of the internal practice—the pearl within the box. I saw her eyes light up then at the wisdom of these words.
You were the pearl, Alice. Your quiet, calm life—your simple life of inner contentment—will remain an inspiration for us all. It is hard to imagine you any happier now than you were in this earthbound life, but we know this is true. We are certain of it.