The Italian in the Chinese Town

Cedar Valley News
Fictorial Number 402 · September 1, 2026
The Italian in the Chinese Town
By George Khan

Last week I told you the fortune cookie was not Chinese. It was Japanese, brought by immigrants, and lost track of along the way. And a good many of you wrote to me about it. One note stopped me cold.

A reader wrote in about a town. Locke, California, out on the Sacramento Delta. She had lived near it long ago and never forgotten it, the wooden buildings, the porches over the dirt street, the feeling of being watched from above. She was sure it had been a Japanese town, sure the people were taken to the camps and came home after the war to reclaim it. She had gone looking for the story, years later, and found nothing at all. She wondered why.

Well. Last week taught me to go and check. So I did.

Here is what I found, and it is better than the story she remembered. Locke is real, and it is still standing, the last little rural Chinese town left in all of America. Not Japanese. Chinese. Built in 1915 by Chinese immigrants who had laid the levees of the whole delta with their own hands, and who were forbidden by law from owning so much as the ground beneath their feet, so they built a town on rented dirt and made it theirs anyway.

And the reader was not wrong about the camps. She just had the wrong town. It was the Japanese families of the delta, in the towns right next door, who were taken away to the camps, and some of whom came home to begin again. She felt a true thing. A real ghost, watching from a real porch. She only gave it the wrong address, off by one town and 40 years. The history is there. It is just quieter, and more tangled, than a single memory can hold.

But I will tell you the part I cannot stop turning over. Right in the middle of the Chinese town, since 1934, there has been a little bar. And the bar has a name. It is called Al the Wop’s.

Al was an Italian. Wop is an ugly old word for an Italian, and I will not pretend otherwise. And this Italian, Al, walked into a Chinese town where he matched nothing and nobody, opened the first business there not run by a Chinese family, hung a name above the door, a slur against his own people, and stayed. He tacked dollar bills all over the ceiling. He served steak with peanut butter on white bread, of all things. He did not blend in. He could not have if he tried. He was the one loud Italian in a Chinese town, strange and entirely himself.

And now, near a hundred years on, when people drive the long way out to see the last Chinese town in America, half of them come for Al’s. The Italian’s bar. It is the beating heart of the place. It became, somehow, over all the years, the most Locke thing in all of Locke.

Here is the part I want to hand you, standing behind my own counter, a man who did not match this town when my mother and I first opened our door either. We think belonging means blending in. Matching the room. Filing off whatever makes us the odd one, until nobody notices we are new. Al is the answer to it, and so is Locke, and so, if I am honest, am I. You do not belong to a place by disappearing into it. You belong by showing up, and staying, and feeding people, and being so completely and unmistakably yourself the town cannot picture itself without you in it.

The Chinese built the town. The Italian gave it its heart. The Japanese next door were taken, and came home. The whole place nearly slipped under, sold off and crumbling, and held on anyway. And a reader carried its tangled wonder around for 40 years without quite knowing what she held.

There is a country, if you ask me. Right there. The whole of it.

So come on in. Whoever you are. Especially if you do not match.

Cedar Valley News has a Facebook group, and this whole piece grew straight out of it, from a note reader Jayne Lisbeth sent us about a little wooden town she never forgot. Thank you, Jayne. So here is my question for the rest of you: where did you first belong to a place you did not match? Come and tell us. And if we get something wrong, tell us, and we will run the correction.

Cedar Valley News is free, and it comes to your inbox every morning, six days a week. If this morning’s fictorial was worth your time, please forward it to someone who would value it. And if someone forwarded it to you and you’d like your own each morning, you can subscribe here.

This fictorial is part of the fictional Cedar Valley News series, written by Evan Swensen, Publisher, and Claude Marshall, AI Developmental Editor. While the deli and George are fictional, Locke is real. Locke, California, in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta, is the largest and most complete surviving rural Chinese-American town in the United States, built in 1915 by Chinese immigrants, many of whom built the region’s levees while barred by state law from owning land; it was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1990. Al the Wop’s, officially Al’s Place, an Italian-American bar opened in 1934, was the first non-Chinese-owned business in Locke and remains a beloved local landmark. During World War II, Japanese Americans in nearby Delta communities such as Walnut Grove were forcibly interned, and some later returned. Sources include the National Park Service, the Locke Foundation, and the Smithsonian.

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