My grandpa Chin F. Foin went to work every morning donning a white starched shirt with a black bowtie, a black tuxedo and shiny black patent leather shoes. After gulping down a raw egg from under the hen in his mansion's backyard, his chauffeur would drive him to his fancy restaurant, the Mandarin Inn, to oversee his 100 workers. The day would pass into the evening until he came home at midnight. But one late night the phone rang instead.
It was 1924 in a Chicago made of possibility AND danger ~ tong wars (Chinese mafia), gambling, murders, prohibition… a mystery awaits … Multi-media staged reading.
This reading is supported by the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Center, the SF Arts Commission, SF Grants for the Arts, and the SF International Arts Festival.
My grandpa Chin F. Foin went to work every morning donning a white starched shirt with a black bowtie, a black tuxedo and shiny black patent leather shoes. After gulping down a raw egg from under the hen in his mansion's backyard, his chauffeur would drive him to his fancy restaurant, the Mandarin Inn, to oversee his 100 workers. The day would pass into the evening until he came home at midnight. But one late night the phone rang instead.
It was 1924 in a Chicago made of possibility AND danger ~ tong wars (Chinese mafia), gambling, murders, prohibition… a mystery awaits … Multi-media staged reading.
This reading is supported by the Asian Pacific Islander Cultural Center, the SF Arts Commission, SF Grants for the Arts, and the SF International Arts Festival.
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