On Donuts and Time
When I was in my early teens I occasionally tagged along with my older brother during his late night adventures. One of the most common places we would go was Tang's Donut Shop, owned and operated by a Vietnamese family, a common trait amongst most independent donut shops in Los Angeles.
Located in Hollywood, Tang’s was located near an adult bookstore, an hourly motel, and a public junior high school. It was a 24-hour haven for degenerate gamblers, drug dealers and the homeless, which, along with tasty donuts, were part of its charm.
Our love of chess introduced us to Tang’s, which had its tables filled with players both inside and outside the shop, who played until dawn. Like any good chess spot with some renown, there was a mix of hustlers and masters; most of whom masked their true talent and skill in order lure in curious fish and gradually reel in a few dollars for coffee, eggrolls, donuts, or more.
Among the more memorable players was Master Ki; a braggart and degenerate gambler known to intentionally throw games and may or may not have been a torturer in the American supported Army of the Republic of Vietnam. Another was a man known as Putzer, who oozed oil from his pores and what could only be testicular elephantiasis, as well as a poor loser.
Time has robbed me of the names and faces of many of these people, but most were there on any given night, gravitating from chess game to card game, looking for a game, or a hustle, a sale, or simply to socialize.
At some point our interest began to wane, the visits lessened, and eventually stopped. But Tang’s always had a special place in my heart. Among our friends and family there are shared memories, good times, and, at least for me, the feeling of being part of something special.
I recently returned to Tang's, arriving a little past midnight only to find that it had closed for the evening. Apparently it is no longer a 24-hour business, no longer a hub for chess, empty of character, void of its original charm.
I took this as a warning. Those places you value, that you fondly recall, where good memories were forged and kept, do not go back, all that waits is disappointment.
Located in Hollywood, Tang’s was located near an adult bookstore, an hourly motel, and a public junior high school. It was a 24-hour haven for degenerate gamblers, drug dealers and the homeless, which, along with tasty donuts, were part of its charm.Our love of chess introduced us to Tang’s, which had its tables filled with players both inside and outside the shop, who played until dawn. Like any good chess spot with some renown, there was a mix of hustlers and masters; most of whom masked their true talent and skill in order lure in curious fish and gradually reel in a few dollars for coffee, eggrolls, donuts, or more.
Among the more memorable players was Master Ki; a braggart and degenerate gambler known to intentionally throw games and may or may not have been a torturer in the American supported Army of the Republic of Vietnam. Another was a man known as Putzer, who oozed oil from his pores and what could only be testicular elephantiasis, as well as a poor loser.
Time has robbed me of the names and faces of many of these people, but most were there on any given night, gravitating from chess game to card game, looking for a game, or a hustle, a sale, or simply to socialize.At some point our interest began to wane, the visits lessened, and eventually stopped. But Tang’s always had a special place in my heart. Among our friends and family there are shared memories, good times, and, at least for me, the feeling of being part of something special.
I recently returned to Tang's, arriving a little past midnight only to find that it had closed for the evening. Apparently it is no longer a 24-hour business, no longer a hub for chess, empty of character, void of its original charm.
I took this as a warning. Those places you value, that you fondly recall, where good memories were forged and kept, do not go back, all that waits is disappointment.
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