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Memoirs of Lloyd Moss: 1927

There were rickshaws everywhere and sampans on the river. If you topped anywhere you were instantly surrounded by a mob of screaming coolies all bidding for your patronage in their vehicle. But if you were new to Asia, just off the cruise boat you could easily think that you were being attacked by a lynch mob. The usual procedure was to step into the rickshaw whose shafts were resting on your feet, then as the coolie lifted the shafts to running position you hit out at the others who were in the way and so off you went down the street at a trot. If you knew your way around the city you gave the foot boards a little kick to right or left when you came to a place to turn and so on. If you didn't know the city the coolie would stop as soon as he came to a spot out of sight of his recent competitors and then would begin a dialog in pidgin English in an endeavor to fix your destination. You had to learn by experience because if a coolie couldn't understand you at all he might suddenly break out in big smiles and say "Maskee, maskee" signifying that everything was clear and off he would trot toward some dive where he thought any sailor would want to be. The only remedy for this was to jump out of one vehicle without paying and get into another one, sometimes changing two or three times until you got a coolie who understood where you really wanted to go.

If you were staying a while in the city it was better to select a coolie, let him know he was your man and everywhere you went from then on day or night you would find him waiting for you when you came out to take you wherever you wanted to get. The pay was a little difficult to figure out at first you had to be told by an old China hand about what to give them for a certain trip, and after that you sort of figured out what was right yourself. If you gave them too much money they screamed just as loud as if you gave them too little because that indicated you were a green hand and didn't know the system and might be taken for much more. Here is an example of the rates: One Chinese yuan or Mex dollar was worth 45 cents in our money. That yuan was divided up into 255 coppers. The distance from Keith Eggs across from the Standard Oil Compound was four miles. For trotting this four miles the rickshaw coolie received 80 coppers. One yuan would buy three quart bottles of Japanese beer. It was the usual thing to see a pay-master sitting under an umbrella on a loading wharf as coolies filed by. After each returned from carrying a heavy load onto a ship he was handed one copper for his back-breaking labor.

The straight section of the Whangpoo River in the very center of the city was called battle ship row and the middle of the river was occupied by the naval flagships of our, and several European nations. On the right hand shore was the wide avenue called the Bund and directly across it was the main banking and commercial area of Shanghai. This portion of the city had the look of an important European city, buildingwise. The main streets going straight back from the Bund were Rue du Consuls which became Avenue Joffre after a dozen blocks. Next along was Edward VII Road that was important as it divided the French section from the English. You couldn't buy a light bulb on one side of this street and take it to the other side of the street because it wouldn't fit due to the difference in construction. The same applied to many other things. Then there was Nanging Road which became Bubbling Well Road further along. Next was Peking Road that turned into Sinza Road and went on for another two miles. After Peking Road the Whangpoo made a sharp bend and the important Soochow creek flowed into the river at this point. The creek had nine bridges over it in the first mile. But the first one crossed at the junction of the two waterways, and cut across the upper end of the Public Garden. It was made of iron and painted green and directly alongside the north approach was the elegant old Hotel Astor still furnished and managed exactly as it was in King Edward VII's time. In the beautiful solid mahogany paneled bar of this hotel I enjoyed the last remnant of the free lunch institution. It was the hotel's custom to keep the uneaten portions of ham, beef roasts etc. in silver covered dishes on a counter next to the bar. As a patron you were welcome to go over at any time and slice off whatever you wanted and carry it back to the table where you had left your drink. Obviously it wouldn't do today but then anyone in a place of that kind was sure to be quiet and mannerly about the operation. I never went there in uniform, having by this time found out that I could have a suit made for a ridiculously low sum.

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