C. C. Chang
When the folks arrived at the Mission Home, they didn’t know where they would be staying; the kids were in a hotel downtown, but they were looking for other accommodations for themselves. After introductions to the Hinckleys and the staff, I got permission to go with them to find something suitable.

As we stepped out onto the rue de Lota, a shiny Volkswagen Bug screeched to a stop, and the Mission’s Hong Kong tailor, Chi Cheong Chang, stepped out, leaving the car blocking the (not very busy) street. I introduced him, and he quickly ascertained that Pappy and Mammy were without independent transportation and lodgings. So, being our sweet and matchless Chang, he handed Pappy the keys to the VW, inviting them to use it as long as they might need it; he also said he thought he knew of a sublet that might serve their purposes. Before the day was out, he’d arranged for the folks to rent a friend’s abode while she was on vacation.

C. C. Chang, in a typically jolly mood.

The friend’s abode
It would be hard to overstate Brother Chang’s asset value to our abbey. Entering the front door of the Mission Home, you found yourself in a broad, two-story ground-floor entry hall. From there, you could turn right immediately and climb the stairs to the main floor. Or you could proceed a few steps forward and turn either left, into my publications / supply office, or right, into Chang’s “office,” of which you can form an idea from the background of this picture. From these spare quarters, he supplied a very large fraction of our missionary suits. Kinda the Paris/Hong Kong version of Davis County’s Mac Christensen.

One day, he was measuring me for a couple of wonderfully durable outfits when he delivered a line that has become a staple of our family discourse. Squinting at the measuring tape, he intoned: “Oooh, big butts!” Hmph.

President Hinckley always addressed Chang and referred to him as “Elder Chang.” And indeed, he was an elder in the Church and a branch member in good standing. Frequently invited to share the staff’s midday (and principal) meal, he would take a turn leading us in prayer, but with a difference: his English was pretty good, and his French likewise, but he always prayed in pidgin. Startling, if you haven’t become used to it.
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