Dear AAJA-NY members,
Thank you for the outpouring of kind words, memories, and photographs of our friend Corky Lee. Below are some personal photos from members all across the country. In addition, please find some thoughtful words and memories shared by some of Corky’s friends about the incredible life he lived.
Love,
AAJA-NY Board
Often this week, I have woken up writing a tribute to Corky Lee in my mind — and then the baby would cry, the girls would need something, I would scramble to get my wits together and re-enter the churn. This weekend, my Facebook feed was filled with photos of Corky’s friends gathered in NYC to pay one final farewell to the giant. They lined the streets of Chinatown. I wish I could have been there.
As the self-described “undisputed, unofficial Asian American photographic laureate,” Corky was a walking historian who understood the politics of documentation, someone who came of age in the 1960s and made Asian American visibility his life’s work. Garment factory workers. Picketers seeking fair treatment. Immigrants going about their daily life. Their grit. Anger. Melancholy. Triumph. His photography was used in the 2020 PBS documentary series on Asian Americans, and a few years back, I came across one of his photos at the Smithsonian Museum of American History, printed on a small foam board honoring Asian American contributions, positioned near the elevator banks — something of an afterthought, it felt, by the curators, but an affirmation, nonetheless, that it is impossible to capture the story of Asians in this country without Corky Lee. That is his enduring, indisputable, public legacy.
But there is a cascade of other, less visible ways in which Corky’s profound influence endures. He was a fixture in NYC Chinatown and Asian American circles — as constant as the sky or wind or air. To me, he was the reason AAJA felt less like a trade association and more like a family, and it was at the 2009 conference in Boston that I first met him, during the silent auction. For years, Corky had been the guy who solicited donated images from other Asian American photojournalists, matted and framed them, in service of the organization. That day we met, I had become obsessed with one of his black and white prints, a park scene featuring a Peking Opera singer holding a cell phone, sitting on the edge of a bench, gaze askew. Seated on the same bench: an elderly white woman wearing sunglasses, arms crossed, staring straight into the lens with a look of judgement. A black woman with an “I love NYC” t-shirt walked by, oblivious to the camera. Corky had snapped the photo during a visit to his wife’s grave. Through that veil of grief, he saw the world so clearly: these people, seemingly walking separate planes in life, bound together by one country — the beauty, the conundrum, the tension of America. The photo is currently in my office at the Corporation of Public Broadcasting. For me, it is a reminder of the public gaze, how easy it is to look in separate directions, and how important it is to find ways to bring the focus to places of common ground.
It was an honor to have Corky and his partner Karen photograph our wedding. They arrived in Seattle by train. To this day, Trevor and I remember the way Corky went on and on about the sleeping cabins and the onboard meals, vestiges of a bygone era. He had this way of bridging the gap between history and relevance, and pulling it to a place of joy. I thought of Corky again last night, listening to Jay Caspian Kang’s profile of actor Steven Yeun in the New York Times Magazine. Yeun muses, “Sometimes I wonder if the Asian-American experience is what it’s like when you’re thinking about everyone else, but nobody else is thinking about you.” It’s a profound insight that Kang circles to again and again, and it reminded me once more of what Corky did.
In that place of “nobody else,” Corky stood, seeing us. Rest in peace, Corky. We’ll be seeing you.
— Joy Lin, Vice President of Journalism, Corporation for Public Broadcasting
I was absolutely devastated to read of Corky’s passing this week. While it has been many years since I last saw Corky, he left an indelible impact on me. In the early part of my career while active at AAJA-NYC, Corky was a staple at every event. He never forgot my name, and always shared the most amazing stories about his adventures.
He seemed to me to have boundless energy, and I was struck by the ways he used photography as a means to propel activism. He was, and through his images, will always be, a critical advocate for our community and a model of how to tell stories inclusively — and with unflinching accuracy in order to move hearts and minds. His death leaves us with a permanent hole in our hearts, one that will never be replaced. I was honored to know him, and will forever be indebted to his legacy. Thank you Corky for your gifts, and for inspiring me to transform the world with stories. I will miss you.
— Cindy del Rosario-Tapan, AAJA-NY Chapter President 2002–2006
I first met Corky when I was a young journalism student at Columbia University, covering the Manhattan Chinatown beat. He spotted me as I was struggling with equipment during a Chinatown parade and came over to help me adjust my camera. He asked me if I needed help and spent the rest of the afternoon walking me door to door, introducing me to every shop owner in town.
I will never forget this big gesture, and will forever carry on the advice and lessons he taught me.
1) Love what you do, and the rest will follow.
2) Photography isn’t just about the photo. It’s about the meaning behind it.
3) Remember your roots. It does not matter what newsroom you end up working for, staying true to yourself will carry you far in your career.
I hope I can pass on Corky’s kindness and generosity to the next generation of Asian American journalists.
Rest in peace Uncle Corky. You will be missed.
— Candy Cheng, Business Insider Senior Correspondent
This was taken in 2015 at the San Francisco National Convention auction. Corky’s photo is his answer to the historical photo in 1865 heralding the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad, which featured no Chinese at all. Corky gathered descendants of the Chinese laborers so their historic role would not be lost to history.
— Lori Matsukawa
Corky Lee to me was the type of man whom you would befriend and immediately made you feel like you know him for a long time. If you ever attended a function and felt out of place but Corky was there with his camera, he will take you all over and introduce you as if you are the host.
I will forever cherish those good memories from those nights when I shot photos side by side with the legend from inside the presspit, when he casually leans in and ask, “What ISO are you using”? That’s how down to earth he was!
Rest in peace Corky Lee.
— Peter Zhao
Excerpted from Peter’s Medium.
An irreplaceable, noble spirit. A journalistic giant of the community and for the community.
He was a man of, and a man for, his times. He stood up to right the telling of our history and to document, through his photography, our ascendance. He was generous with his time and knowledge, and shared his insights when asked, offered when he thought they’d be helpful. He’s left us with so much of our pride and self-love in his photographs, his projects and his far-reaching vision. He helped me in ways I can’t quite articulate, and I’m sorry I never told him so. Thank you, Corky, for the time we had. May you rest in peace, up there in heaven.
— Christopher Chow
I am saddened by the death of Corky Lee. We all started together in the mid-70s with the debut of Asian CineVision Television (ACTV) under the direction of then Peter Chow. In the photo (below), we were in Washington, D.C. to complete interviews of prominent Asians in the Washington, D.C. area. Taking a break, I set up the scene on a self-timer, with (left to right) Corky Lee, Thomas Chin (myself), Jeffrey Chan and Jon Ho.
— Thomas Chin
I first remember meeting Corky Lee (same last name — no relation) years ago through the Asian American Journalists Association (AAJA).
It might have been during one of the AAJA annual convention, when I was one of several college students who reported for Voices, the student newspaper he help found and fund every year through the annual photo auctions he organized. Or it might have been through seeing him at many subsequent AAJA-New York social events — either watching him snapping a multitude of photographs with his camera or being the subject of one of his photo shoots.
I was initially surprised and intrigued by his business card ─ the “undisputed, unofficial Asian American photographer laureate.” Corky eventually became a friend and informal mentor, always energetic, kind and upbeat, willing to share career advice on how to navigate the ups and downs of journalism, tips on how to take better photographs or even just talk about Asian American history.
He was always a welcomed face and presence at every AAJA program. I remember seeing and socializing with him at other programs outside of AAJA ─ a Japanese American Obon festival in rural southern New Jersey; a Chinese American genealogy talk in Flushing, Queens; an International Women’s Day protest in Washington Square Park; a retrospective exhibit of his photographs at the Asian Arts Initiative in Philadelphia, among other places.
There are two special interactions with Corky that I will always hold dear to my heart.
The first memory would be in the fall 2014. The New York Historical Society opened a new exhibit, “Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion,” that featured several artifacts and stories from my family’s history. I went to the opening event with several relatives and we experienced an emotional rush while walking the gallery hallways, staring at pictures and items that belong to loved ones long gone. Corky was there, too, and he was kind enough to photograph and share a new family portrait in front of my great-uncle’s 1951 suitcase. There we stood — three generations of the family standing side-by-side next to the metaphorical and literal immigrant baggage we brought to New York City. I appreciated the fact that he emailed the photos to me. I was touched he even took the time and care to print out the best picture and mail it so I would have a physical souvenir of the moment.
The second memory was the last time I saw Corky in person on October 24, 2020. I went to his Chinatown Arts Week photo exhibit in Manhattan at the former newspaper stand on Mosco Street. Corky transformed what was once an egg-cake waffle stand from my childhood memories, and, more recently, a chocolate-dipped strawberry shop, into a colorful pictorial survey of Chinatown’s recent past. Different slice-of-life pictures were on display: teens practicing a lion dance in Columbus Park, banquet hall waiters dishing out multiple servings of wedding cake, a huge multi-story American flag draped down the side of an apartment building in a burst of post-Sept. 11 patriotism.
Corky was in his natural element, cheerfully chatting with local residents who recently took part in early voting while also promoting his work, the new Chinatown Mural Project and the work of Think!Chinatown, a community arts and neighborhood advocacy organization, to any strangers that happen to be walking by on the street.
Corky told me about his eerie experiences documenting via photography what was going on in Chinatown during the COVID-19 pandemic, the emptiness of the streets ─ worse than the aftermaths of the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks ─ and how the coronavirus was devastating for local businesses and residents. Corky told me of the precautions he took while riding on the subways, always wearing a mask, using hand sanitizer and being careful of his surroundings.
Corky also told me about the fears some Chinatown residents had about anti-Asian attacks and how street safety patrols were being done by volunteers from the Chinatown Block Watch and the Guardian Angels — something he hadn’t seen in neighborhood for years going back to the high-crime times of the 1990s.
Even while managing the photo display, Corky still took the time to take photographs of interesting street scenes, which, in this case, was of restaurant cook taking a work break by Transfiguration Church, leaning on a fire hydrant while scrolling through a cell phone.
I invited Corky to join me and a friend for lunch at an outdoor restaurant, but since he couldn’t step away from the photo show, I ended up getting and treating him to some cha siu baos/pork buns from Mei Li Wah Bakery. Our farewells were a simple, ordinary one. I told him to take, be well and waved. I always thought we’d meet again at another, later, safer date.
The outpouring of loving tributes to Corky have been immense and his reach goes far beyond the journalism world. He touched the lives of everyday Chinatown residents as well as artists, activists, librarians and historians all across the country. I’ve emailed the news to several friends and group email chains, and I’ve been surprised to see who else among my contacts and strangers knew and loved him and his work.
Another fellow librarian, Evelyn Shimazu Yee, Azusa Pacific University associate professor, librarian and curator/preservationist for the Historical Nikkei American Missions Archive, sent me an email that best sums up my current feelings on Corky’s passing.
“He was an icon,” Yee wrote. “We can’t take the time we have with our community treasures for granted. We must capture their essence before they leave us!”
In my mind, Corky’s cheerful smile, exuberant positive energy, relentless volunteerism and extensive, exhaustive photographic collection will be his everlasting legacy.
─ Michelle J. Lee
