An American Dream: The Life of an African American Soldier and POW Who Spent Twelve Years in Communist China

Postscript by Della Adams

postscript ★ Della Adams Shortly before he died, I had a very revealing conversation with my father. We had often talked after work at one of our restaurants over our customary glass of Old Grand Dad, but this conversation was different. Seven years earlier he had been diagnosed with emphysema, which was now in its final stages. He knew the end was near, and he wanted to assess his life in a more positive way, without the disappointment and bitterness he so often expressed. During many of our previous conversations, he often denigrated his many accomplishments. In spite of being an educated man and owning eight restaurants and a nice home with plenty of creature comforts, he would still insist, “I am a failure.” I’d tell him, “You’re crazy. You’re not a failure. You started from nothing, and look at the life you’ve had.” But he would insist, “Look, I did not get what I wanted.” I never could pinpoint what it was that he wanted, other than, “I failed your mother. I brought her here, and she had to work harder in America than she ever did in China. That was not what I wanted for her.” He would have tears in his eyes when he spoke of how he had failed my mother. Religion may also have played a role in this final talk. My father always claimed he was an atheist, even though he was brought up a Baptist. What he really wanted, of course, was to control his own life. He’d often say to me, “God and I have an understanding. I’m not going to try and fool Him, because He knows I’m a rotten son of a bitch, but I’m not the most rotten son of a bitch in the world.” When I would say, “You were really blessed” or “God was really looking out for you,” he’d say, “Don’t worry about it. The two of us have our understanding.” He now told me that God had informed him that he had little time left. Intellectually he understood that he had transformed that little black kid hustling pennies on the streets of Memphis into someone who had a college degree from a foreign university, spoke fluent Chinese, associated with fascinating people from around the world, read widely, translated many books, and was a proud and successful businessman. He understood all this in his mind, but deep inside he really did not see that person as himself. Somehow, in his darker moments, he was still the same Skippy who could never please 144 : Postscript his mother or the world around him. Conversely, he was also afraid of being too successful or, better said, afraid of becoming something he was not. But in this final conversation he said, “Della, you know what? I think we did okay. Looking back at our lives, we did do a lot of things right. Some good things happened, and I’m happy with this.” After that, he and my mom did not argue so much. They also started doing more things together. A couple of months before he died, he told her, “You know, Lin, I think we’ve had a pretty good and interesting life together.” About that, I had no argument with him. Lin and Clarence Adams shortly before his death in 1999. Clarence and Lin Adams celebrating daughter Della’s wedding on August 16, 1998, just thirteen months before Clarence died. ...