Essays In Appreciation


Rose Chan Houston (Essays) was Curator of Far Eastern Coins at the American Numismatic
Society, 1970-1988. She is currently Librarian at the School of the Holy Child in Rye, New York.



Mr. Bass Remembered

Rose Chan Houston

"Hello, this is Harry Bass. My wife, my two daughters and I are joining the Dallas Museum of Fine Arts Tour to China this Fall. I wonder if you, being Curator of Far Eastern Coins, would be interested in coming along as my guest?"

That one phone call may not have changed my life but it certainly opened up a whole new world of professional contacts for me and broadened my understanding of Chinese numismatics. Moreover, it made it possible for me to visit my hometown and family after an absence of twenty-five years.

During those three weeks of touring China in October 1980, 1 got a glimpse of a Mr. Bass that was quite different from the brilliant, efficient, no-nonsense visionary President of the American Numismatic Society. As a fellow traveler, he was most affable, kind and solicitous toward everyone on the Tour. His sense of humor was contagious; and many a time, his wry remarks broke up the tension and anxiety caused by the "demonic" bus drivers on treacherous mountain roads.

Mr. Bass was an enthusiastic and tireless tourist. He went everywhere, did everything and some more. Undaunted by the fact that the Chinese taxi drivers did not speak English, he took a solo taxi ride around the heart of Beijing one afternoon and returned safely to the hotel.

Mr. Bass was a gastronomic adventurer. He would eat (or at least taste) any exotica served - and the Chinese outdid themselves in presenting authentic Chinese dishes during the Tour: Phoenix claws (chicken feet), dragon flesh (eel), Eight Immortals' essence (monkey brain). Miao-tai - the favorite drink of Chairman Mao - was not for the faint-hearted, and Mr. Bass rose to the occasion every time.

He loved meeting, people and chatting with strangers. He had an insatiable curiosity about people and things, especially people of different ethnic origins and things from other cultures. He was particularly good with little children. He could communicate, play and laugh with the "tots" with ease and pleasure. And because of his height, blond hair and blue eyes, he was "stared at" frequently by both young and old. To them, he was the exotic one. But Mr. Bass never took offense; he smiled and took pictures and crave them "fresh off the Mint" Lincoln pennies which the Chinese scrutinized in puzzlement.

In outward appearance, Mr. Bass was a glowing specimen of health and youthful vitality. All through the three- odd weeks of travel, he never complained of physical discomforts even when most everyone else came down with head-colds, coughs or whatnot. Mr. Bass always had a cheerful word and a hearty laugh. Therefore, it was a shock to me when he told me he had a chronic back pain which no medication or physical therapy had been able to alleviate. He said he would like to try Acupuncture because he though it might help his condition. While in Hong Kong, we found an Acupuncturist who promptly went to his hotel suite to administer the procedure. Since the Acupuncturist could not speak English, I was asked to interpret. Again, Acupuncture is not for the timid of heart; those foot-long needles and electric currents are a frightening sight at best. Even Mrs. Bass could not witness the procedure for long before she retreated to the outer room. Mr. Bass, however, was very calm; quietly taking the pain without a word of complaint. But when I learned later that he had two more Acupuncture sessions without an interpreter, I marveled at his courage. For any tiny misstep on the part of the Acupuncturist could paralyze a patient for life. Mr. Bass was, indeed, one of those extraordinary human beings who are masters of their own fates.

Mr. Bass was, in every way, a true Texan: his physical stature, his speech pattern, his love of spicy food, and his gargantuan appetite for doing good, giving gifts or acquiring aesthetic things. In China, people were awed by his physical presence, and students of foreign languages were puzzled by his Texan drawl. One time, he was apparently so homesick for a good meal of tacos and BBQ ribs Texas style that he took a 40-mile taxi ride to some restaurant where he had an authentic Texas meal the night before, in order to have another meal of ribs and tacos. He bought paintings from struggling artists and made generous donations to sub-standard learning institutions. One afternoon, in the Friendship Store in Beijing, he bought some 20 exquisite Oriental rugs to be shipped home to Texas. It was a rare and delicious sight, indeed, to watch him signing $40,000 worth of American Express travelers checks. He would have bought two of the Qin Emperor's life-size terra cotta soldiers unearthed in Xian if the Chinese authorities had permitted such a sale, but they did not.

Mr. Harry Bass was a complex man who defies definition or characterization. Like all men of great achievements, he "doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus bestirring in other men's hearts admiration and discomfort simultaneously. My eight-year-old son, after spending a day in Mr. Bass's company, made the following observation: "Mr. Bass is really nice. I like him. He told me I can call him Harry."