Heinz, as a little boy, lived with his uncle and aunt, Edgar Worch and Hedwig (Hedi), in Berlin, in a large and very elegant home in the West End (Charlottenburg). Edgar Worch was a well-known and renowned dealer in Oriental art, specializing in the art of China. Museum people and collectors of Oriental art came from all over the world to his gallery at No.2 Tiergartenstrasse, in Berlin. Heinz's parents, Georg (Jorg) and Gertrud (Tula) Trubner spent most of those years in China, where artifacts of the ancient Shang dynasty (c.1750-c.1050 B.C.) were being dug up. Magnificent bronze vessels and many other artifacts from the ancient tombs of the royal Shang capital at Anyang were brought to light in the late 1920's and early 30's, many under clandestine conditions. Jorg Trubner was among the first Europeans to study these early Chinese bronzes and wrote the first book: Yu und Kuang: zur Typologie der Chinesischen Bronzen. Heinz's grandparents also lived in the big house with the uncle and aunt and little Heinz was therefore not alone; in fact, he was greatly spoiled by everybody.

The house was filled with Chinese art of great beauty and wonderful antique furniture, mostly French. The talk, especially when visitors were being entertained--and this happened very frequently on account of the uncle's flourishing art business--was usually about Oriental art and the latest finds and discoveries. Heinz was thus exposed to art, and especially to the arts of Asia, from very early on in his childhood in Berlin.

As a young man, the uncle, Edgar Worch, had worked with his uncle at their Oriental art import shop in Paris. It was here, while working for his uncle, that he was trained and made several trips to China at the turn of the century, In the course of his travels he established important contacts there, and in Japan, where the firm subsequently set up and maintained an office in Kobe. When World War I started, their business, being of German ownership, was confiscated by the French Government; they lost everything and were never compensated. Edgar Worch returned to Germany, fought in the war as an officer, and was seriously wounded in the knee at Verdun. As a result, his left leg remained stiff and unbendable for the rest of his life, but he nevertheless got used to it and managed to walk with only a slight limp.

After the war, he started his own very successful business in Berlin as a dealer in Oriental art and married Heinz's mothers sister Hedwig, or Hedi, who as of this date (2/25/94) is still living in New York at the age of 101 (she will be 102 on August 11). Heinz's mother, meanwhile, had married Jorg Trubner, the son of a very famous German painter, Wilhelm Trubner. The Trubner family came from Heidelberg, where the Trubner House on the Hauptstrasse, built in the 17th century, can still be seen. Jorg Trubner was a scholar, had studied Italian art, and had later become fascinated by early Chinese art. He became associated with Edgar Worch, who started to send him to China to study and to buy some of the important objects then being found, especially some of the magnificent bronze vessels, about which very little was known in Europe, or in America, at that time.

Heinz did not see much of his parents who traveled very regularly to China and the Orient every year. In those days, there were no airplanes and one would travel from Berlin to Beijing by train through Russia and Siberia--a terrible journey, more than two weeks in length on dirty and uncomfortable trains and traveling through unbearable heat or frigid cold, depending on the season. In addition, there was danger from bandits or revolutionaries, as conditions in Russia were very unsettled. There were Russian soldiers on the train to protect the weary passengers. Mosquito netting was an important necessity as bugs were plentiful. On account of these conditions in Russia and still other dangers lurking in China, Heinz was never taken along on these journeys, but was left in the custody of his grandparents and uncle and aunt.

Following the death of Jorg Trubner from black measles (a virtually incurable illness at that time) in China in 1929, Heinz's mother no longer wanted to live in Berlin and decided to settle in New York. She was also worried about the worsening conditions in Germany, for her late husband had always warned that the Nazis would some day come to power.

Heinz meanwhile continued to live in the big house on Nussbaumallee 18-20, in the fashionable West End of Berlin. At first he continued in the school near his old home where he had lived with his parents. But this was along way from his current home (uncles chauffeur usually drove him there in uncle's elegant Cadillac, something Heinz did not like, as it set him apart from the other kids) and before too long he was transferred to the nearby school in the West End. It was a short distance from home and he could walk there.

Heinz had several good friends at school, especially one named Franz. He also had a dog, a white Seeliam, which he adored. Because it was white, it needed frequent baths, but all this was taken care of. One day Heinz was with his friends at another boys house and did not watch the time. He came home late--Aunt Hedi was about to call the police--and next day Heinz woke up with a terrible earache. The doctor was called and immediately diagnosed it as mastoid. Aunt Hedi was sure it happened because Heinz had stayed out with his friends too late the day before, but of course this had nothing to do with it. Eventually Heinz was operated on his left ear, which was the infected one, and after some time in the hospital, he came home with a big bandage around his head. All this happened while his mother and Jorg (he was still alive at this time) were in China. As communications were difficult in those days, especially to China, Uncle and Aunt and the grandparents had to take responsibility for going ahead with the operation. They were all terribly worried, of course, but fortunately all went well.

In the early 1930's, well before Hitler came to power, Heinz's family--his grandparents, Uncle and Aunt--moved to Geneva, Switzerland. Heinz first went to a small private school near Montreux; the school subsequently moved to Caux, a small town in the mountains just above Montreux. About 1932 or 1933, Heinz was enrolled in the Ecole Internationale, in Geneva, not far from the apartment where he lived with his grandparents on the Avenue Leon Gaud. And uncle and aunt lived just a block away in a beautiful apartment with a magnificent view of the mountains, notably the Mont Saleve, just across the border in France. The family, in fact, made frequent excursions to the Saleve. Not only was it exciting to go across the border into France, but from the top of the mountain, accessible by cable car, one could enjoy a magnificent view of Geneva and surrounding countryside.

Heinz's mother was still living in America, but she came for an occasional visit to Geneva; this was always a happy event. Heinz had attended the Ecole Internationale for about two years, when it was decided that Heinz should attend school in England, as English schools were considered especially good in overall education and academic standards. Heinz thus attended Cranleigh School, near Guilford, Surrey, from 1935-38. This was a boarding school for boys, very strict and Spartan--typical of English schools in those days. As part of his education, he also learned football and cricket; in fact, he excelled in football and won his school colors and blazer for his football skills. He was especially good in running and tackling and would sometimes score for his team by outdistancing everybody.

The food was not very good at the school, and to make matters worse, the "New Boys" always had to sit at the end of the long tables and had to eat what was left as the food was passed down from the head of the table. With each new school year, the "New Boys" would of course move higher up at the table until eventually they would be at the head. There was also a "Tuck Shop" where the boys could go to buy such luxuries as sweets, ice cream, and fruit, etc. And each boy also had a "tuck box," a large storage box which would contain all kinds of goodies brought from home at vacation time, or sent by parents to supplement the food at school. Once Heinz and two other boys broke into the tuck box of another boy, which was of course discovered and the culprits all got a spanking.

Heinz's mother would visit Cranleigh sometimes on one of her infrequent trips from America, and this was always a very special occasion as Heinz could then visit her in her hotel in Cranleigh and leave the school grounds. Once she stayed several days in London and Heinz was permitted to visit and stay with her at the Piccadilly hotel in London, a real and very special treat.

Uncle and aunt also visited Heinz at school and even attended church service at school with him, where they almost froze to death, it was so cold--and all the windows always had to be kept open, even in the dormitories. Girls were of course never seen at school, except on special occasions when they had to be with their parents. When events took place in the auditorium, a rope would run down the middle of the room, and boys whose parents were visiting could sit with them, all other boys had to sit by themselves on the other side of the divider.

At Whitsuntide, each year, the school would go on an outing to Guilford and boating down the river. The event was always strictly supervised. Part of the excursion was by foot and one of the great excitements was to find a pub along the way (which was of course out-of-bounds) and quickly have a beer before the teacher would discover it. Once some boys discovered some girls near the school grounds and somehow managed to get away for a visit with them. Unfortunately for them, they were soon discovered and subsequently expelled.

Heinz completed three years of school at Cranleigh and successfully passed the Oxford and Cambridge entrance examinations. Heinz's mother, however, was extremely worried about the worsening political situation in Europe and the threat of war with Germany and therefore wanted Heinz to come to America. She therefore came to Geneva in the summer of 1938 to take Heinz home with her. They traveled by overnight sleeper to Paris (Heinz always loved overnight train trips), where he and his mother were to spend a few days before leaving for America on a rather slow, but very fine Dutch ship, the Volendam. But when they arrived in Paris, Heinz had an earache and a discharge from his ear. He had tried to hide it from his mother, but of course she discovered it and immediately rushed him to a doctor. He recommended a fast boat to America and an immediate visit to the doctor upon arrival in New York. The booking on the Volendam was therefore canceled and rebooked on the Lie de France, one of the luxury French boats, which took a mere five days to New York.

Food on the boat was typically French, most delicious and very rich, but unfortunately the sea was quite rough at times and everybody got seasick, even Heinz, who had never been sick crossing the English Channel on the roughest of crossings, when traveling between Geneva and his school in England. At least the journey was quick and Heinz and his mother arrived in New York on a typical, sweltering day in August 1938.

Heinz was fascinated and very excited about New York and despite the summer heat enjoyed his new life. A very good friend of his mother's, a banker who also owned a white Mercedes Convertible, drove Heinz and his mother around quite a bit, showing them the city as well as the beautiful surroundings, such as Westchester, including Scarsdale, an elegant suburb where he lived. Heinz also met his mothers lawyer, who was also a good and trusted friend, who took care of all legal matters pertaining to Heinz's immigration and a change of his name to Henry. This was very easy and Heinz was henceforth known as Henry, a name he liked much better, especially now that he was living in the United States.

Then, in late September, came the time for Henry to leave for Harvard, where his mother had enrolled him when he was still at school in England. But just when Henry was getting ready to depart for Boston, a ferocious hurricane--one of the deadliest ever--hit the East Coast. All travel between New York and New England was stopped. There was terrible destruction and extensive flooding and many, many people were killed. It was days before Henry could finally leave for Harvard, where the opening of classes also had been postponed because of the storm.

For his freshman year, Henry lived at Thayer Hall in the Harvard Yard. He made a number of friends, especially two who shared a room in another dormitory. One of them was from Newton, a suburb of Boston, and he would often go away for the weekend to stay with his family. Henry would then spend Saturday night with the second friend and they would enjoy going out to breakfast on Sunday morning and reading the Sunday paper. In the meantime, Henry's mother or Aunt Hedi would be calling Henry's room, but Henry was not there to answer the telephone.

When they tried repeatedly and there was still no answer, they were sure Henry had been kidnapped or murdered, or perhaps had run away with a girl. They were just about to call the police, when they would try to reach him one more time, and finally Henry would answer, to their great relief. Henry ultimately told his mother and Aunt Hedi that he would often spend Saturday night with his friend, something he had neglected to tell them before for fear it would give them something else to worry about..

At Harvard, Henry took courses in Philosophy, History and Fine Arts, which he soon decided was to become his Major. The Fine Arts courses were given at the Fogg Museum, where Henry met Professor Langdon Warner and Professor Benjamin Rowland, who were soon to become his mentors and official tutors. Dr. Rowland, who was Henry's principal tutor, always terrified him, especially when he had to meet Ben (as he was commonly called) in their biweekly tutorial sessions. Ben was also quite terrifying in class, as he had a rather stem, booming voice and seldom smiled. Langdon Warner, on the other hand, was very easy-going and relaxed and often told amusing stories of his various experiences in China.

One of these always stuck in Henry's mind. When Langdon Warner was at the Tun-huang Buddhist caves in Kansu, in northwestern China, he met the chief abbot and they became good friends. When it was time to leave Tun-huang, following an extended stay in this desert outpost, Langdon Wamer told the abbot that he wanted to take a statue back with him to the Fogg Museum as a permanent remembrance of his visit. The abbot was quite shocked. He really could not part with any of the many Buddhist figures at the site, for they were being repaired and repainted every year, and besides, many new ones were constantly being added. When Langdon Warner explained that he really wanted an old statue, not a new one, the abbot was delighted and told him that as long as the statue was old and not repainted he would be free to take one back to America. As a result, the Fogg Art Museum is today the proud possessor of the rather large kneeling Bodhisattva, modeled in polychrome clay, which originally formed a pendant with another (Bodhisattva in cave 148 at Tunhuang. This and many other famous exploits of Langdon Warner in China are recounted in his fascinating book, The Long Old Road in China, 1926.

Henry graduated cum laude with the Class of '42 and received his BA. He continued with his postgraduate studies in Fine Arts, majoring in Oriental Art, and earned his MA two years later, in 1944. He was fortunate in that he was able to stay at Harvard throughout the war years as he qualified only as 4F, on account of his perforated eardrum, and could not get into the Army or any other services because of this. He was very disappointed, but as result was able to stay at Harvard, and besides his studies was also able to earn a little money as a Student Assistant at the Fogg, grading papers in some of the larger classes. He also received a scholarship from Harvard, which provided some modest financial assistance to support his studies towards a Ph.D.

In 1947, having passed his orals for a Ph.D. in Fine Arts, he one day received a telephone call from Dr. Valentiner, Vice-Director of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, asking him whether he would like to become the Museum's Curator of Oriental Art, a position newly established at the museum. Henry could hardly believe the good news and, needless to say, accepted immediately. He would have to move to Los Angeles almost at once, giving up his studies at Harvard, but both Langdon Warner and Ben Rowland urged him to take up the new challenge and accept the position offered, especially as it was a rather senior position and there was nothing remotely comparable available anywhere else. In July 1947, Henry thus moved to California and established a new home in Los Angeles.

Henry had bought a car when he was still at Harvard, a 1941 Buick Convertible, gray exterior and red leather seats, which was his pride and joy despite his mother's misgivings. He therefore made the move to California in his car, driving across the country in the company of a cousin of his who was also going West at the same time. This was lucky, for Henry's mother would never have let him drive alone all the way to California--it was after all a very long trip and roads were not always perfect in those days. In any case, Henry and his cousin had a good and very interesting trip, and arrived safely in Los Angeles.

Henry had to start work at the museum almost immediately and fortunately he was able to find a nice temporary place in the Westwood area of Los Angeles, near Wilshire Boulevard, not very far from where Dr. Valentiner lived. And it was not long before he found a more permanent home, a wonderful one bedroom apartment on Veteran Avenue, with a kitchenette, still quite close to Dr. Valentiner, whom he would usually pick up on his way to the museum, and usually he would also take him home in the evening. It was a very nice arrangement, for in the car they could discuss museum affairs and things that needed to be done, rather than have formal meetings at the museum.

One of Henry's first jobs was the design and installation of the new William Randolph Hearst Galleries of Asian and Classical Art; Mr. Hearst having provided the funds for these new galleries. The director of the museum at that time was James H. Breasted, Jr., the son of a very prominent Egyptologist at the University of Chicago, where the younger Breasted had also been teaching. Mr. Breasted was a rather strange and difficult person, not a very good administrator, and he and Dr. Valentiner did not always get along too well. Mr. Breasted still had a museum career to build and Dr. Valentiner, who was very much his senior in age, already had a long and distinguished museum career behind him, and was known as a renowned Rembrandt scholar who had held senior museum positions in Germany, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and for many years, until his retirement, following which he moved to Los Angeles, as Director of the Detroit Institute of Arts.

The Los Angeles County Museum of History, Science and Art (as it was then called) also had quite a few problems, as Henry soon learned. The Director and Vice Director (Mr. Breasted and Dr. Valentiner) carne from an art background, but the interests of senior and entrenched staff were in preserving the previous dominance of the History and especially the Science Divisions. This led of course to all kinds of internal divisions and rivalries, as Art currently was receiving most of the funding and public support, but Science and History represented the Old Guard, and they were not about to relinquish their previous power and influence.

And then there was the problem of the Munthe Collection, a collection of questionable Chinese art which the museum had acquired a long time ago, long before Mr. Breasted, Dr. Valentiner, or Henry had anything to do with the museum. General Munthe, a General in the Foreign Service in the 1920's, who had lived in China for many years, had acquired a large collection of Chinese antiquities, which he considered of outstanding merit and superb quality, The Los Angeles County Museum, urged on by members of the Board of Trustees and other influential citizens persuaded the museum authorities to acquire the Munthe collection with public funds provided by the County of Los Angeles. The arrangement was for the museum to buy the collection in three Installments of $250,000.00, or a total of $750,000.00, a tremendous sum in those days. The first installment was paid, and when the collection was subsequently displayed at the museum with great fanfare, many scholars and experts of Chinese art went to Los Angeles to view these great treasures. The only problem was that they were sorely disappointed and several came out openly and declared the collection nothing but fakes. Dr. Alfred Salmony, a noted scholar of Chinese art and later Professor at Mills College, Oakland and at N.Y.U., New York, was one of the first to voice highly critical comments about the Munthe collection and soon more and more scholars came out against the collection, declaring it worthless and without merit. When the County Board of Supervisors finally got word, they were of course very upset, to put it mildly. One of their first acts was to cancel the commitment to acquire the additional two thirds of the collection, but they could not get out of the $250,000.00 they had already paid. It was also decided that the County would no longer provide acquisition funds for the museums works of art, a decision which put the museum at a serious disadvantaged for many years to come.

While the installation of the new William Randolph Hearst Galleries of Asian and Classical Art was in progress, questions would sometimes arise as to why more of the Munthe collection was not being used. Most of these inquiries came from some of the "old timers" on the museum staff and in the community, who in one way or another had an interest in not losing face over their involvement, direct or indirect, in this bad deal. Henry soon caught on, and with the help of Dr. Valentiner and Mr. Breasted was able to cope with this ongoing problem. The Hearst Galleries finally opened with a string of festivities and the new installation was very favorably reviewed in the local press. Henry had been successful in arranging for the loan of a number of important pieces from New York collectors and dealers, notably from C. T. Loo and Tonying & Co., the two foremost dealers of Chinese art in New York at that time. Henry had personally, through his family, met the famous Mr. Loo and Mr. Yau, a delightful old gentleman who was the head of Tonying, and all this helped to arrange for the loans, which in turn greatly impressed the people in Los Angeles. The idea was, of course that the loans might inspire some future acquisitions, now that the museum could boast of some permanent galleries of Chinese art, which is precisely what ultimately happened.

The success of the new galleries were a big boost for Henry, for he now had something positive to show in the museum. The questions over the Munthe collection, nonetheless, never went away and there were still people who thought that there were some marvelous examples of ancient Chinese art in the collection. One of these, Millard Sheets, a painter of some renown and head of the art department at Claremont College, Pomona, thought the collection was great and the museum all wrong. He decided, and Henry was delighted, to have all the big sculptures in the Munthe collection and some of the other items stored at the museum, forming part of the remaining two thirds of the Munthe collection which the museum had never bought when the remainder of the deal fell through, moved to Claremont. This freed up valuable storage space for Henry and moved at least part of the Munthe problem to Claremont.

The museum had virtually no funds for the purchase of works of art, for after the disastrous purchase of the Munthe collection, the County, which was responsible for the museums upkeep and maintenance, withdrew all future purchase funds. The only acquisition funds available, were private donations, or the Museum Associates, a membership organization which had its own private funds, some of which could be requested for the purchase of works of art or the funding of special exhibitions.

Henry, nevertheless, was able over the years to make a small number of significant purchases of Chinese, Japanese, and Indian art. He was also able to secure some important gifts, including a large and very rare fourteenth century Chinese blue-and-white plate, the mate of which is in the Topkapu Sarayi Museum in Istanbul. (cf. John A. Pope, Fourteenth Century Blue-and- White. A Group of Chinese Porcelains in the Topkapu Sarayi Muzesi Istanbul. Freer Gallery of Art, 1952, PI. 9), and the important collection of Chinese and South-East Asian art belonging to Carl Holmes, in New York.

While the museum had very few and limited funds for purchases, it had considerable funds for special exhibitions and it was in this area that Henry was able to become very active and organize a number of very significant exhibitions. Each of these exhibitions was also accompanied by a catalogue. His first exhibition, Chinese Painting (1948), was followed by The Art of Greater India (1950), Chinese Ceramics (1952) and The Arts of the Tang Dynasty (I 957). These exhibitions became major undertakings, involving loans not only from major museums, private collections and dealers in the United States and Canada, but also Europe for the Indian exhibition, Japan for the Ceramic show and both Europe and Japan for the Tang exhibition. The loans from Japan were especially significant, for these were the first major loans from Japan in the post-war period and therefore a major achievement for Henry. Junkichi Mayuyama, one of the leading dealers in Japan, was most helpful in successfully negotiating for these loans on behalf of the museum in Los Angeles.

These exhibitions also brought great prestige and notoriety to the Los Angeles Museum, earning him greater respect and support from Trustees and the Community at large. Therefore, Henry was able to make a few significant acquisitions despite very limited funds and he was able to secure a number of important gifts and monetary contributions from local as well as East Coast collectors. And in 1957, following The Arts of the Tang Dynasty exhibition, the Board of Trustees was so pleased with the favorable reviews the exhibition had received from the local and national press that it presented Henry with a free trip (1st class!) to Japan and other parts of Asia for a combined study and buying trip. The Board, moreover, approved the sum of $15,000.00 for Henry to spend at his discretion on works of art that he might see on his trip and would consider worthy of acquisition for the museum. The Boards action was most unusual and in recognition of Henrys achievements. And luckily $15,000.00 still represented a considerable amount in those days, especially in Japan, where the dollar was worth 360 yen. Henry was thus able to take full advantage of this rare opportunity presented to him.

Henry very much wanted Ruth to accompany him on this trip to the Far East, but what to do with the children--Sue and Karen--and how to pay for Ruth's expenses. Fortunately Henrys mother immediately offered to pay for Ruth, and Ruths mother offered to take care of the children in California (with the help of Desyl, then Gunner's wife). With all this taken care of, Henry and Ruth could now proceed with the serious planning for the trip. Accordingly, they left by Pan American for Japan the latter part of October 1957, making a brief stopover in Honolulu to see the Honolulu Academy of Arts, well known for its Asian collection, and visit with the Director, Bob Griffing, an old friend of Henrys. And then, finally, Henry and Ruth departed for Japan, following a most enjoyable stay in Honolulu, where Bob and Marjorie had taken good care of them.

The plane from Honolulu to Japan was a Boeing Stratocruiser, with two decks in 1st class, an upper and a lower. The trip to Japan took a long time in those days and required a stop on Wake Island for refueling. Henry did not like flying and the long trip kind of worried him. But the flight to Wake was smooth and Henry enjoyed the elegant 1st class service. The drinks also helped one to relax and worry less. The plane finally landed on Wake-- the island is so tiny that one cannot see it until the last minute--and the plane hardly has enough room to land before finally stopping at the water's edge.

Following takeoff from Wake and another 7-8 hour jog on the final leg to Japan, Henry went to the lounge for a much-needed drink. He only had a sip or two when an announcement came over the loudspeakers that a typhoon was headed our way and everyone was requested to return to their seats so that dinner could quickly be served before things might get bumpy. This was all Henry needed and he did not enjoy the dinner, noticing all the time the huge tumulus clouds surrounding the plane. But somehow, the plane avoided the typhoon, skillfully flying around the clouds, and the flight never got bumpy despite all the warnings. The plane finally landed at Tokyo's Haneda Airport and Henry's worries were over at last.

Junkichi Mayuyama was already waiting outside the Customs and Immigration area to officially welcome Henry and Ruth to Japan. He also had a private limousine waiting so that he could take them directly to the Imperial Hotel, at that time still the original Frank Lloyd Wright building. It was a very impressive welcome. And at the hotel Henry and Ruth were treated like VIPs and were given a beautiful room overlooking the garden. Mr. Mayuyama at that time had a branch antique store, as well as a jewelry store, in the Imperial Arcade and was an important shareholder in the Imperial hotel. Any good friend of his was therefore a VIP and treated accordingly by the hotel.

In Tokyo, Henry and Ruth were taken to all the major museums, foremost among them the Tokyo National Museum, where they also met the Director, Mr. Asano. He was quite ancient, but a wonderful, kind gentleman. He made many special arrangements to see rare paintings and other objects, ordinarily not on view and almost impossible to see. Mr. Asano soon became a very good friend and important contact for Henry. On one occasion, precious Sung and Yuan dynasty paintings, which Henry had requested to see, were taken out of storage and everybody had to wear mouth masks, so as not to breathe on the paintings. Actually one did not dare to breathe at all.

Henry and Ruth were also taken to the most important private museums and collections, including the Nezu, Seikado, Hosokawa and Umezawa collections. Mr. Hosokawa (formerly Baron Hosokawa), a tall and stately gentleman of noble ancestry, greeted us in person, as did Mr. Umezawa, to show us their treasures, It was all very exciting and stimulating.

Henry and Ruth also met the major dealers, who at that time had a good supply of important works of art, as many collectors were in great need of money following World War 11 and thus eager to sell off major works of art. Fortunately, the Board of the L.A Museum had preapproved $15,000.00 for Henry to spend at his discretion in Japan on works of art for the museums collection, an amount which in those days was quite a large sum. Henry was thus able to acquire a number of major Japanese art works, including a large Seated Haniwa Figure, a pair of Screens by Maruyama Okyo, a large bronze Bell (dotaku), a negoro lacquer Ewer, and a superb example of E-Garatsu (Painted Karatsu) ware. Later on, just before returning to the United States, he was shown a wonderful pair of screens depicting the famous Bridge at Uji, a favorite subject of Japanese artists in the Momoyama period, and ultimately these screens were also added to the museums collection, with the help of a private donor. All of these objects are today among the most prized possessions of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Following their stay in Tokyo, Henry and Ruth traveled to Kyoto and Nara, Japan's ancient capitals. There they tried to see as many of the museums and temples as possible, including numerous visits to the Kyoto National Museum, and other famous sites for which Kyoto is justly famous, but of course one can never see them all, no matter how many times one visits this great city. They visited many of the major temples, the Old Imperial Palace, which in those days could only be viewed by special permission from the Imperial Household, Nijo Castle and various Imperial Villas, including of course the celebrated Golden and Silver Pavilions, famous gardens, like the Ryoanji and many other historic sites in and near Kyoto. They traveled to nearby Uji to see the famous Byodoin Temple, with its huge image of Amida Buddha, the central image of the Phoenix Hall. They visited distant Muroji Temple, a long and memorable trip by car with Mr. Mayuyama; Soame Jenyns, Deputy Keeper of the Far Eastern Department of the British Museum; and Philip Stem, Curator of Japanese Art at the Freer Gallery, and later its Director. An intermediate stop at Tenri and an elaborate lunch with the Chief Abbot, produced a huge bottle of Sake, which the Abbot gave us as a souvenir. It was promptly consumed at dinner that evening.

Following a wonderful and exciting stay in Japan, Henry and Ruth left for Taiwan, which proved very different from Japan. They first stayed in the Grand Hotel, in Taipei, at that time the only civilized place to stay in this city, which for the most part appeared dirty and dilapidated, especially when coming from Japan. The Grand Hotel itself was fine, but following a dinner at the home of the American Consul General, Ruth got quite sick, something not unusual in Taiwan in those days. And in a day, or so, Henry and Ruth were scheduled to travel to Taichung, where the famous paintings and other treasures of the National Palace Museum were at that time kept in caves dug into the mountains to protect them against possible attack from the Chinese mainland.

Taichung was really the end of the world, but Henry and Ruth were lucky to be able to stay in a fairly nice Chinese-style house, originally built by a wealthy Japanese resident. Unfortunately, nothing worked too well; the toilet would not flush, for lack of water, and the shower over the bathtub did not work either. But there was a nice, quite ancient Japanese housekeeper who spoke no English, but Henry could communicate with him in Japanese and expressed to him his frustration at the lack of water. And happily our Japanese friend immediately found a solution: a bathroom downstairs, where the shower was working. And he became very anxious that we use the downstairs bathroom and every time we came home he would be waiting for us, his arms waving and calling out "bath ready." This now became an amusing daily ritual.

This was indeed a rather funny house. I noticed that there were quite a few young girls running around downstairs. What they were doing and why they were there, I was never able to find out. Our bedroom was funny too, with two big beds and fancy mosquito curtains all around, giving the room a curiously Victorian atmosphere. We looked out on a courtyard full of chicken and a rooster who woke us up at sunrise every morning. And when it was not the rooster, it was an earthquake which woke me up several times--though Ruth never heard or noticed any quake. She was sure it was all in my imagination. There was also a sink in our room, but of course no water came out of the faucets.

Virtually all of our time, of course, was spent at the caves; there was no museum building as such, only administrative buildings for the former National Palace and former National Central Museums and the vast expanse of underground caves where the art treasures were kept to guard against enemy attack. Every day a list was drawn up of what we were to see the next day and all in all we were able to see a good cross-section of the major paintings stored here at that time.

The director, curators, and entire staff were always most helpful and cooperative, making our task that much easier and enjoyable. We also noticed big differences with Japan, where everybody was always very professional and super careful. Curators would usually wear gloves and protective masks over their mouths. Not so in Taichung; no masks and no gloves. One day, when I wanted to see a particular famous painting of the Tang dynasty, they said I could see it after lunch. When we came back after lunch, the Curators wiped off the table where they had just eaten, and then rolled out the handscroll right over the remaining crumbs and bits of food. Nobody seemed to worry, but we were aghast.

Every day, during our extended stay in Taichung, we would arrive at the museum compound early in the morning, go back to the American Officers Club for lunch, then back to the museum to look at more paintings in the afternoon. Then, when the museum closed around 5 PM, we would go back to our quaint guest house for a bath and rest and then back to the Officers Club for dinner. And everybody at the club always wondered what on earth we were doing here in this god-forsaken place, called Taichung. Since then, of course, all the collections formerly housed here, have been transferred to Taipei and the new National Palace Museum, where they are beautifully displayed and properly cared for. The new Museum has also been enlarged and upgraded several times over the years to meet current museum standards and requirements. Today it is a far cry from its original setting in Taichung.

Henry and Ruth were originally scheduled to travel from Taipei to Hong Kong and then on to Cambodia to see the famous temples at Angkor. However, the political situation in Cambodia was such that it did not seem safe or advisable to travel to Angkor, and as Henry had many things on his mind that he wanted to do in Japan, it was decided to return to Japan directly from Hong Kong, their next stop.

Hong Kong was a very different world from Taipei--a prosperous and flourishing city, very British in many ways, at the southern edge of China and a lively gateway between East and West. Henry and Ruth stayed at the beautiful Peninsula Hotel, which was so British that it could just as well have been the Piccadilly in London. High Tea was served very formally in the Lounge every afternoon, as though we were in London, not in Asia. For breakfast, lunch and dinner, a little Chinese page boy in full uniform always stood at the entrance to the plush and stuffy dining room, opening the door as one entered and, of course, holding out his hand for a tip, and doing the same again as one left.

Except for the Art Gallery at City Hall and the Art Museum at the University of Hong Kong, there were no major public displays of Chinese art, but there have always been a number of distinguished private collections. One of these, at the time, was the collection of Edward (Eddie) Chow, especially noted for its extensive holdings of Chinese ceramics and lacquerware. Henry and Ruth spent a lot of time with Eddie and his wife, Virginia, studying their extensive collection and enjoying their generous hospitality. Thanks to them, the stay in Hong Kong turned into one of the highlights of the entire trip, for the Chows took Henry and Ruth to all the best restaurants in the city and showed them the beautiful surroundings of the city, including the fashionable Repulse Bay Hotel, where afternoon tea was again served in true British fashion.

Henry and Ruth returned to Japan directly from Hong Kong, without visiting Cambodia because of the political unrest there. Besides Henry wanted to have more time in Japan to see certain works of art and collections and to ready himself for the official opening of the Shoso-in, the ancient imperial treasury, in Nara, the first three days of November. One of his other goals had been to visit Kyushu and become more deeply involved in the study of Japanese ceramics. This now became a reality when arrangements were being made to travel to Kyushu later in November, together with Soame Jenyns; Fujio Koyama, famous potter and ceramic expert; and Haruo Igaki (of Mayuyama & Co.), to visit some of the major kiln sites and meet with various potters and scholars of Japanese ceramics.

The Shoso-in, which houses the personal collection of the emperor Shomu, who died in 756, was in those days traditionally opened the first three days of November. The formal viewing and "airing" of the ancient treasures was an important event for which special invitations were issued by the Imperial Household, mostly to foreign scholars and dignitaries. If it rained on the first day (which it normally did not at that time of year), the invitation could be carried over to the next day. Or, if it rained both days, the treasures could still be viewed on the third day. However, if it rained all three days, the Shoso-in would remain closed and a visit would have to be rescheduled for the following year. (Today, the Shoso-in treasures are housed in a modem, fully climatized building and the annual opening ceremony has been dispensed with in favor of a special exhibition of the treasures, in November, at the Nara National Museum.)

Henry and Ruth, Soame Jenyns, Max Loehr, and other scholars visiting Japan at that time had all been issued invitations for the November 1957 opening, and the official day was eagerly awaited by all. And fortunately it did not rain. The viewing of the treasures was indeed unusual, especially as there were no lights inside the building, making it difficult to see the works of art in the dim surroundings, arranged informally in their supposedly original state. Soame complained all the time that he could not see anything and that this was a terrible way to view these great treasures. But having no lights and viewing the objects in their supposedly original state also added to the importance and mystery of the occasion.

The Shoso-in opening was followed by another busy time in Kyoto and subsequent return to Tokyo. It now was time for Ruth to return home and take care of our children. Henry stayed behind a few more weeks in order to make the long-awaited trip to Kyushu in the company of Soame and Haruo Igaki. Mr. Koyama and Mr. Nagatake then met them in Kyushu. In those days it was not customary to fly to Kyushu, but one took the overnight train and sleeping car, a very comfortable but quite long trip, arriving in Fukuoka only the next afternoon. From there they proceeded to Arita, Japan's ceramic capital, where they stayed at a famous hot-spring resort, known as Shinsenkaku Hoteru. It was Henry's first experience in a truly Japanese Inn. One night, Mr. Nabeshima, a member of the Diet in Tokyo and a descendant of the ancient Nabeshima clan, the feuda1 lords who once ruled over this area and patronized the Nabeshima kilns, gave a huge banquet at Shinsenkaku, very much in Japanese style, complete with lots of Sake and an ample supply of young ladies to entertain.

In the course of their stay in Kyushu, they visited many of the major kiln sites in and around Arita, as well as Karatsu, and also traveled to Nagasaki, in the southern part of Kyushu. They met many famous potters, such as Kakiemon, Muan, Toroemon Nakazato, and Imaemon Imaizumi, and visited the many ceramic museums and storehouses, so abundant in this area, as well as more contemporary ceramic factories, shops, and galleries displaying current products. They were also fortunate to be able to collect a number of shards at various kiln sites, especially at the Tengudani ("Valley of the Long-Nosed Goblins") site, on the western outskirts of Arita. The Tengudani kilns, excavated by Professor Mikami in 1966 and succeeding years, were the first to produce blue-and-white decorated porcelain in Japan, in 1816, perhaps even earlier, and the products of the kilns are therefore of particular importance in the history of Japanese ceramics. Today it is no longer possible to collect shards at this site, or other kiln sites for that matter, and Henry was most fortunate to visit Japan in those years when it was still possible to collect ceramic shards at most kiln sites.

Following the trip to Kyushu, Henry concluded his first trip to Japan, Taiwan, and Hong Kong with another brief stay in Tokyo where he was now shown for the first time, at a dealers, the pair of screens of the famous bridge at Uji, subsequently acquired by the Los Angeles museum (see above). But finally the time came for Henry to return home, but this was only the beginning for a long line of future trips to the Orient, especially Japan, where his curatorial work was to take him quite regularly at least once every year.

In 1958, Henry left his post at the Los Angeles County Museum to take up the position of Curator of the Far Eastern Department of the Royal Ontario Museum, in Toronto, Canada, where he and his family settled for the next ten years, from 1958-1968. Then, in 1968, another move was in store, this time to accept an appointment as Curator of Asian Art at the Seattle Art Museum, in Seattle, WA. Dr. Richard Fuller, Director and President of the Museum, who had known Henry for many years, was getting on in years and needed an experienced scholar to become Curator of the museum's large and world-renowned Asian collection. Henry was both happy and honored to accept the new job offer and he and his family subsequently moved to Seattle in July 1968.

As Curator of the Royal Ontario Museum's Far Eastern Department, Henry was responsible for one of the museums largest and most important departments, most notable for one of the most extensive and renowned Chinese collections outside of China. Most notable was the collection of ancient Chinese Bronzes from the Shang and Chou Dynasties, the extensive collection of Chinese Ceramics. There was also a good representation of the art of India and Southeast Asia while the Japanese and Korean Collections were relatively small.