that I left all my Bar/Bri Bar Review materials in my East Village studio.
The four-week internship will give me an opportunity to get a glimpse of a China unknown to most Westerners including myself. Every morning, as I walk through the Consulate gates guarded by armed, expressionless Chinese sentries, the sheer number of people waiting outside always strikes me. Curious about the crowd’s motives for leaving China, I did a bit of research. I soon realized that the well-groomed, middle-aged men in overcoats and woolen scarves are the professionals, grim survivors of China's many political movements. The chatty ladies standing by their sides, with newly permed hairdos, are their anxious wives. Occasionally in tow are the children, bundled up like pandas to keep warm. Most of these people have distant family members in America who have agreed to sponsor their long-lost mainland relatives for a visit to America. The luckier ones among them may have obtained private funds from U.S. companies to do research there.
The wide-eyed, down jacket-clad youngsters are mostly college students, some already admitted to graduate programs in the U.S. Unlike the Chinese government-sponsored students who will have everything arranged for them, these young people braving the wind here are known as "the private students," U.S. visa category "F-1." The U.S. immigration forbids them from working while in school. This rule will hurt these Chinese youths the most, since they probably have little or no money in the U.S. To make matters worse, the Chinese government has tight control over the exchange of Renminbi , or People's Money, into any foreign currencies, so these students, once abroad, are usually penniless and unable to earn money legally.
For those who emigrate, the Chinese have a saying - they seem to have a saying for everything. It's called "Leaving the home village and turning one's back away from the native well." It's meant to describe people who are desperate. Looking at these crowds, I think these Chinese are truly desperate.
It dawns on me that their despair can be my gain. I can make money from the Chinese. Instead of busting my balls working like a dog for Tabor Wilcox as a corporate lawyer on Wall Street and toiling and moiling for years to make partner, I want someday to start my own immigration law practice. The field is poorly regulated, and I’ll have a lifetime supply of Chinese as clients, among others. Relishing the idea, I grab a note pad, cross out the U.S. insignia with an "X," and jot down:
"Belated 1985 New Year’s Resolutions:
1. Pass the Bar
2. Do a short stint w/ Wilcox at S & K
3. Establish immigration practice in Chinatown.”
After all, the Chinese were responsible for making the earliest Cook families rich. During the late 1870's, Great-grandfather was just another redneck tilling a parcel of desert land in Joshua Tree, California. Through some strange mixing of the Californian Yin and Yang , he ended up testifying against the influx of the Chinese, or Chinamen, as they were called. The result was the Chinese Exclusion Act passed by Congress in 1882. His local celebrity status helped him get elected as mayor and the Cook family had never looked back.
Edward Cook, Sr., my grandfather, was the first in the family to finish high school. He had this vision of becoming a Yankee. Going against the tide, he took his young bride to Manhattan’s Lower East Side, edged the Jews there out of a few tenement buildings, and became a landlord to Chinese bachelors. He made money through real estate and sent Dad to a private college in New England. The old man lived well into his eighties, dying only a few years ago on a trip to St. Martin while looking into time-share properties. The taxi he had hired to go to the casinos on the Dutch side reportedly fell off a shoulder near the French-Dutch border, killing him, his second wife, and the driver. Grandpa had written his will and taken care of the probate
The four-week internship will give me an opportunity to get a glimpse of a China unknown to most Westerners including myself. Every morning, as I walk through the Consulate gates guarded by armed, expressionless Chinese sentries, the sheer number of people waiting outside always strikes me. Curious about the crowd’s motives for leaving China, I did a bit of research. I soon realized that the well-groomed, middle-aged men in overcoats and woolen scarves are the professionals, grim survivors of China's many political movements. The chatty ladies standing by their sides, with newly permed hairdos, are their anxious wives. Occasionally in tow are the children, bundled up like pandas to keep warm. Most of these people have distant family members in America who have agreed to sponsor their long-lost mainland relatives for a visit to America. The luckier ones among them may have obtained private funds from U.S. companies to do research there.
The wide-eyed, down jacket-clad youngsters are mostly college students, some already admitted to graduate programs in the U.S. Unlike the Chinese government-sponsored students who will have everything arranged for them, these young people braving the wind here are known as "the private students," U.S. visa category "F-1." The U.S. immigration forbids them from working while in school. This rule will hurt these Chinese youths the most, since they probably have little or no money in the U.S. To make matters worse, the Chinese government has tight control over the exchange of Renminbi , or People's Money, into any foreign currencies, so these students, once abroad, are usually penniless and unable to earn money legally.
For those who emigrate, the Chinese have a saying - they seem to have a saying for everything. It's called "Leaving the home village and turning one's back away from the native well." It's meant to describe people who are desperate. Looking at these crowds, I think these Chinese are truly desperate.
It dawns on me that their despair can be my gain. I can make money from the Chinese. Instead of busting my balls working like a dog for Tabor Wilcox as a corporate lawyer on Wall Street and toiling and moiling for years to make partner, I want someday to start my own immigration law practice. The field is poorly regulated, and I’ll have a lifetime supply of Chinese as clients, among others. Relishing the idea, I grab a note pad, cross out the U.S. insignia with an "X," and jot down:
"Belated 1985 New Year’s Resolutions:
1. Pass the Bar
2. Do a short stint w/ Wilcox at S & K
3. Establish immigration practice in Chinatown.”
After all, the Chinese were responsible for making the earliest Cook families rich. During the late 1870's, Great-grandfather was just another redneck tilling a parcel of desert land in Joshua Tree, California. Through some strange mixing of the Californian Yin and Yang , he ended up testifying against the influx of the Chinese, or Chinamen, as they were called. The result was the Chinese Exclusion Act passed by Congress in 1882. His local celebrity status helped him get elected as mayor and the Cook family had never looked back.
Edward Cook, Sr., my grandfather, was the first in the family to finish high school. He had this vision of becoming a Yankee. Going against the tide, he took his young bride to Manhattan’s Lower East Side, edged the Jews there out of a few tenement buildings, and became a landlord to Chinese bachelors. He made money through real estate and sent Dad to a private college in New England. The old man lived well into his eighties, dying only a few years ago on a trip to St. Martin while looking into time-share properties. The taxi he had hired to go to the casinos on the Dutch side reportedly fell off a shoulder near the French-Dutch border, killing him, his second wife, and the driver. Grandpa had written his will and taken care of the probate
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