George Fong, FBI, with thoughts on civility.

RHYSBOWEN: I always pictured FBI agents as steely-eyed, ruthless and scary. That was before I met George Fong. He is kind, generous, with a great sense of humor and yet he has had a distinguished career involving many high profile crimes, drug busts, murders, kidnappings. And now he has written his first novel and I’m delighted to have him here as our guest on Jungle Red. So welcome, George. The stage is yours:

GEORGE FONG: When Rhys Bowen asked me if I would be interested in writing a blog for the Jungle Red Writers, I was elated.  Then I got worried.  In my prior life as a federal agent with the FBI, I have briefed Senators, Premiers, and foreign dignitaries throughout the world and was comfortable – dare I say – confident.  Twenty-seven years on the job gave me comfort.  But this one made me sweat. 

That night, I went to bed thinking of all the cases I have investigated, all the undercover assignments and thought – The Jungle Red Writers don’t want to hear your war stories.  Mystery writers have heard them all. 

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy speaking about the cases I have worked on, doing so at many conferences and writer’s groups.  But as much as I think procedures are important to a story, I have found what forms a protagonist’s character and perspective on life is far more interesting.  It was something I have learned from the many writers that have helped me in my writing endeavors over the years. 
And so, for this blog, I want to tell you about something I recently observed and how it affected me.  I hope you find it interesting.

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Looking Out the Window

Last week, my wife Rebecca and my daughter Rachel decided that we should attend the Newport Beach Boat Parade, one of the top ten things to do during the holidays, according to their website.  Touristy things never sounded good, being local to the area but the idea felt like the right thing to do.  It brought a bit of normalcy to a life that - in the past as a federal agent - was usually crowed with bad news. 

I spent 27 years as a Special Agent with the FBI before retiring in 2010.  During that time in my life, holidays and family functions were usually – if not the norm – interrupted by a kidnapping, a drug delivery or a gang shooting.  On the phone or off to meet with an informant, my time rarely belonged to me, let alone my family.  When I retired, I took on a new job – Head of Security for ESPN, the Worldwide Leader in Sports.  The job offers different challenges that after four years, gave me a huge perspective on what really is a crisis.  Take that boat parade as an example.

We departed the house mid afternoon, hoping to catch a bite on the pier before hopping aboard The Amigo, a ferry that would tour us around Balboa Island to watch the colorful lights hung on multi-million dollar yachts as well the ocean view homes encircling the bay.

Driving to the pier, we passed an endless line of parked cars and lots with signs stating “LOT FULL.”  Nearly two miles from our destination, finding a place to park going forward was going to be a lost cause. 

As we entered Balboa, an hour had passed and still, no sign of an open space. We pulled into a public parking lot and decided to wait for someone to leave.  Three others had the same idea.  It was another 20 minutes before a family walked up to a car parked close by, getting ready to leave. 

One of the waiting cars, a woman driving an SUV, crept forward in an attempt to claim the spot but before she could get into position, a large black SUV sped forward, positioned to claim the open slot.  I watched as the driver of the black SUV refused to give in, even though others had been waiting for quite some time.  

The two vehicles lurched and braked, squaring off like a pair of angry dogs, challenging each other in a game of chicken.  A little girl exited the back of the black SUV, watching the two 5,000 pound vehicles dare each other to see who would be willing to bend metal over a parking space. Muffled words were exchanged between the two, the message clear from their hand gestures.

Just then, another woman walked up and entered another car next to mine. Rebecca hopped out of the car, confirmed the lady was departing – cheered – and gave me the thumbs up sign.  I was elated, knowing we would still have time to catch a quick bite before hopping on board the ferry. I started to ease forward. 

As I started to pull into the slot, the woman in the SUV accelerated forward trying to take my parking space.  Trying to reason with her through my open window, the woman began to scream in a mantra of phrases that would not have surprised me to contain the words, “Kennedy, CIA and grassy knoll.”

The little girl from the black SUV, who was still standing in the fray of this very dangerous mix of vehicles, looked over at the woman and quietly remarked, “You’re in the wrong lane.”  The woman screamed her reply, “Shut the f**k up, you little b**ch!” 

It was at that moment, my world took a pause. I was stunned at the reaction she had to an innocent remark coming from a little girl. From the other side of the parking lot, the voice of another woman called out, “Merry Christmas!”

We got our parking space and made it to a Bar-b-que stand before boarding The Amigo.  As we finished the tour, the three of us reflected on that little girl who stood in the street, unattended by her parents while being screamed at, civility being tossed to the wind.  

Then, I thought about the days as an FBI agent, when I would meet with the parents of missing children, of finding their child’s body in a shallow grave. The guilt I felt, being the one that gave the news, not receiving it.  I was the person looking out a window into a world of dangerous realities that no person should ever have to experience. 

Having seen the woman in the parking lot screaming profanities at a little girl without provocation and the fact that the parents of that little girl were nowhere to be found reminded me of how people need to take a breath and reflect on the priorities of life.  What really justifies anger and where has the holiday spirit gone? 

It was at that moment that I realized I was outside the window, looking in - with everyone else.  The difference was, I saw what it was like from the inside and knew parking slots and aggravated crowds were nothing to get hostile about. Besides, it’s the holiday season. 

I try not to over-analyze every situation, but I have to admit, having witnessed the worst in society, gives you a bit more pause when things go awry.  I still get angry but in most cases, my wife reminds me, “No one died, no one got kidnapped.”  Good point.  

George Fong was born in San Francisco, California in 1959, to a Chinese immigrant father who joined the US Navy, met his Japanese mother in Okinawa and brought her home to America.  His father didn’t speak Japanese, his mother, not a lick of Chinese.

After a distinguished career in the FBI, including investigating the infamous Yosemite murders, he found a need to write.  The result is a debut novel entitled Fragmented and is loosely based on a kidnapping case of a ten-year-old girl when he worked as a rookie agent in Bellingham, Washington.

RHYS: Thank you for joining us and for the insightful story, George. And good luck with the book. I can't wait to read it! George will give away a copy for his favorite comment on JRW.