Remembering Tan Boon Lin

Today would have been the 98th birthday of my old headmaster, Tan Boon Lin. Instead, we marked his passing just five days earlier on the seventh of September. His was a life that spanned almost a century of change. Born in 1927, he came of age during the turmoil of the Second World War, finished his schooling at the Penang Free School where he had been both a Boy Scout and Senior Prefect between 1939 and 1947, and then returned to the same institution as a teacher from 1951 to 1955 and later in 1963 as the headmaster. His appointment made history: he was the first Asian to hold that position, guiding the school until 1968. From there, his career rose steadily through promotion after promotion until retirement, after which he spent a short period at Tunku Abdul Rahman College before finally stepping away from public life. That, in essence, was Tan Boon Lin: remembered above all as the Free School’s first Asian headmaster, but also as a man who left a lasting imprint on generations who passed through its gates.

My first real encounter with him came in 1966, the year I entered Form One at the Penang Free School. At that time, we were confined to the afternoon session under the watch of an Afternoon Supervisor, so direct contact with the headmaster was rare. Still, there were moments when his presence was felt to remind even the youngest boys who held the reins of authority in the school. Things changed a year later when Form Two was moved to the morning. Mondays meant School Assembly in the Pinhorn Hall, and that was when Tan Boon Lin became a more familiar figure. 

One can imagine almost 1,500 students packed into the hall, the Prefects trying to keep order while a steady murmur filled the space as schoolmates chattered away. Out on the corridor, a Prefect stood watch for the headmaster’s approach. At the first sight of him, a signal was sent, the bell rang and the murmur dissolved into silence immediately. Such was the discipline. Then came the unmistakable clip-clop of his shoes along the floor, each step drawing nearer until he appeared at the doorway and walked down the aisle. Decades later, that same clip-clop sound found its way into one of the videos on Penang Free School which Siang Jin and I worked on together. It was our quiet tribute to Tan Boon Lin, a simple gesture of respect for the man whose presence had once commanded the School.

When he was eventually transferred out from the Free School, that was the last I saw of him. For decades he slipped into the background of memory, until the end of 2011 when his name surfaced again in my life. That October, I had taken on the task of co-editing The Old Frees’ Association commemorative book, FIDELIS. Among the contributions was a piece by Lim Chang Moh, who had interviewed our former headmaster for the book. A few months later, in April 2012, not long after the book was launched, I made my way to his home in Petaling Jaya to present him with a copy. It was the first time I had set eyes on my old headmaster since 1968. Naturally, he didn’t recognise me (because I wasn't outstanding in school at all) but he received me with the warmth of an old friend. I’ve found this to be true of teachers and headmasters: even if the faces of their former students blur with time, the joy of reconnecting never fades. The gratitude flows both ways. We are thankful for the paths they opened for us, and they in turn take quiet pride in seeing how we have carried on.

As the Free School’s Bicentenary drew near in 2016 and I was tasked with producing another book, I found myself turning once more to my old headmaster for information. By then he was in the midst of finalising his autobiography, which included a chapter devoted to the three phases of his life at the school: student, teacher and headmaster. His daughter, Gaik Cheng, kindly shared a copy of that chapter with me on the condition that I use it only as background and not reproduce it verbatim. Later that year, on the evening of the 21st of October, he returned to the school for the Bicentenary dinner. It was a grand occasion, with former headmasters called on stage to be honoured, but it was his name that was announced first, to step forward and be introduced to the Raja of Perlis, Tuanku Sirajuddin Jamalullail, before receiving a copy of Let the Aisles Proclaim.

When The Old Frees’ Association reached its own 100th anniversary in 2023, I found myself once again with the privilege of writing a commemorative book—this time simply titled CENTENARY. Months later, in March 2024, I visited my headmaster at his Petaling Jaya home to present him with a copy. He had prepared for the meeting. On the table before him were his well-kept but bookmarked copies of FIDELIS and Let the Aisles Proclaim. When I placed CENTENARY alongside them, his face lit up. Another book on The Old Frees' Association, another chapter in the story of the Penang Free School. By then he was very frail, already 97, and I was careful not to linger too long. After an hour or so of gentle conversation, I took my leave, never imagining it would be the last time I saw him.

But the story didn’t end there. There was a coda. In 2024, his autobiography was ready to see the light of day. One day I received a call from Gaik Cheng. Could I lend a hand with some coordination with the printers in Penang? How could I ever refuse? So I went down to Areca Books, looked over the proofs, checked for stray details that might need correction—small things, but enough to feel I had a part in the process. It turned out to be a privilege, a first-hand glimpse of On Making a Difference before it reached the public. The book was officially launched at The Old Frees’ Association annual dinner on 21 October 2024, a fitting tribute to the man whose life had been so bound up with the Free School.

And now, with his passing, the circle feels complete. From the headmaster I first glimpsed as a nervous Form One boy in the Pinhorn Hall, to the dignified elder statesman I visited in his twilight years, Tan Boon Lin remained a steady presence in the long story of the Penang Free School. I count myself fortunate to have crossed paths with him more than once, not only as his student but later as a chronicler of the school and The Old Frees’ Association. He lived long enough to see his own autobiography published, to place his voice alongside the history he had helped to shape. For us, his former students, that will always be his gift: the reminder that a life devoted to teaching and guiding others truly makes a difference. Rest in peace, Headmaster. Fortis atque Fidelis.

 

Tan Boon Lin, 1927-2025

 Sad to hear of the demise of Tan Boon Lin, my first Headmaster in secondary school. He was the first Asian appointed as Headmaster of Penang Free School from 1963 to 1968. I shall pay a tribute to him in my blog this Friday.

Ooi Eow Jin (1938-2024)

It was with some sadness that I learnt that our legendary local pianist and composer, Ooi Eow Jin (Uncle Ooi or OEJ to some people), had passed away today (Wednesday) at the Kuala Lumpur Hospital at the age of 86. His wife, Elaine Khaw Lean Kee, shared that Eow Jin took his final breath around 3.30pm. DJ Dave, chairman of Yayasan Kebajikan Artis Tanah Air (YKAT), described Eow Jin as a "great musician, composer and icon" and added that his contributions to the Malaysian music scene over the past six decades had been nothing short of remarkable.

Ooi Eow Jin was an Old Free, having studied at Penang Free School, where he sat for his Senior Cambridge examinations in 1955 and passed with a Division II certificate. Like many boys attending Primary schools in Penang, he had also passed through Wellesley School and then Westlands School. While I have scant information about his early years as a musician, I know he worked as a temporary teacher after completing his secondary school education and then, a government clerk in the Survey Department, Penang. Music was in his blood and in his spare moments, he was a pianist at the Eastern & Oriental Hotel (E&O Hotel) on Farquhar Street. By the 1960s and 1970s, he was already a key figure in the RTM Orchestra — one of the giants among RTM music maestros, standing alongside other greats like the late Alfonso Soliano and Ahmad Nawab. Working with some of the country's most iconic singers, including P Ramlee and Sudirman Arshad, Eow Jin composed and wrote songs that became part of Malaysia’s musical history.

Later in life, in 2010, Eow Jin became the resident pianist at the Majestic Hotel in Kuala Lumpur, where he played for five years. Sadly, he had to call it a day in 2015 due to declining health, which was later diagnosed as Alzheimer’s disease, marking the end of his time on stage and in the limelight.

It was around that time that I became more aware of his personal struggles. He never received any government pension because his stints with the RTM Orchestra were on a contract basis. One reason he chose to continue working past retirement was to support his two ailing sons, one suffering from leukaemia and the other with a brain tumour. Having to retire from performing was a major blow for Eow Jin and he gradually withdrew into his shell. In an effort to ease his burden, friends rallied to organise a charity concert in Petaling Jaya. Held on 19 July 2015, the event raised close to RM100,000, with contributions from fellow Old Frees and the public alike. Likewise in 2017, my old classmate, Kee Thuan Chye, staged his play, Swordfish + Concubine, in Kuala Lumpur and raised more than RM30,000 for Eow Jin.

The warmth of two old friends meeting, despite protocol's constraints

In July 2015, I wrote to the Penang Chief Minister, highlighting Eow Jin’s plight and requesting the State Government to recognise his contributions to the nation with an award, even though the official deadline for nominations had long passed. I later learnt through one of the Chief Minister's personal aides that Eow Jin’s name was submitted to the Penang Governor, who instantly recognised him and agreed to an award. In September 2015, the newspapers reported that Eow Jin would receive the Darjah Setia Pangkuan Negeri (DSPN), which conferred the title of Dato’.

Things worsened in 2022 when Eow Jin, his wife and their surviving son, Raymond, contracted Covid-19. While Eow Jin and Elaine recovered, they tragically lost Raymond to complications from the virus. Despite his struggles, the Malaysian music community didn’t forget him. In 2018, YKAT stepped in to provide Eow Jin with a RM500 monthly pension, and I hope they will continue to extend the same payments to Elaine now.

Ooi Eow Jin’s passing feels like the closing of a significant chapter in Malaysian music history. His work shaped much of the local music scene, and his influence will be felt for years to come. As DJ Dave said, "Malaysia has lost a true icon." Eow Jin’s legacy as a composer and pianist will continue to resonate, with his melodies, collaborations and contributions leaving an indelible mark. Though his friends and fans mourn his loss, they also celebrate the incredible life and career of a man who gave so much to Malaysian music.

Tribute to Ong Jin Eong

I've just learnt of the recent demise of a chess friend's father, Professor Dr Ong Jin Eong. Like the two of us, he was also an Old Free but from the Class of 1960/62 (Form Five/Upper Six). From Penang Free School, he continued his studies at the University of Melbourne and did his Ph.D. at the University of Tasmania. I'll reveal more of that man's life later on in this passage.

From what I've read from tributes that had been flowing in from around social media, Dr Ong was a much respected scientist and lecturer, known not only in Penang but also through the region. It is not often that the death of a retired personality would attract the attention of his former workplace but the University of Science Malaysia (USM) duly released an obituary in his memory recently.

Noting the passing of one of their kind, the University issued an obituary that read: "On 5th August 2021, we lost a prominent scientist who had devoted his whole life to the study of mangrove ecology. After obtaining his PhD from the University of Tasmania in 1970, Professor Ong began his service as one of the earlier batches of academician who joined Universiti Sains Malaysia. During his tenure at the School of Biological Sciences, Professor Ong made outstanding contributions such as assisted in the setting up of the electron microscope lab, founded and led Mangrove Ecosystem Research Group, served on the editorial boards of international journals BIOTROPICA, Asian Marine Biology and Mangroves & Salt-Marshes. He was also an active member of Malaysian National Science Research and Development Council, UN Group of Experts on the Scientific Aspects of Marine Protection (GESAMP) and Malaysian Nature Society. He was best known as the foundational scholar of mangrove study in Malaysia, pioneered in the research of mangrove productivity, nutrient fluxes, carbon sequestration and in his later career, communicated extensively on the links in mangrove and climate change.  Professor Ong’s commitment to science inspired many of his students and his passing has left a big void especially in the mangrovian community. May his soul rest in eternal peace."

The Centre for Marine and Coastal Studies (CEMACS), a USM body which undertakes research focused on biodiversity, mariculture, marine mammal ecology, conservation of marine and coastal forest ecosystems, among others, commented on their own facebook page that "as we mourn for the lost of Prof Dr Ong Jin Eong, we are celebrating his life's work and passion for mangroves."

He was the second CEMACS Director. Although he retired from USM in 1999, he continued playing an active and significant role in research as well as engaging the Centre in forest and mangrove research. From the mid-1970s until his retirement, he led the small but very active Mangrove Ecosystems Research Group at USM whose main long-term aim was to close the carbon and nutrient budgets of a mangrove ecosystem. This Group worked across disciplines, collaborating with scientists around the world and pioneered frontier researches of mangrove ecosystem at that time.

"Among colleagues and peers, he is well-known to be a person and mentor who is very gentle and great kindness. His passion towards the mangrove and willingness to share knowledge have touched the lives of many. His great contributions to the scientific community, university, and society as a whole will be always remembered and cherished. Thank you Professor Ong for everything and rest well," concluded CEMACS.

The chess friend I was referring to at the start of this story is Terry Ong. I've known him since his schooldays at Penang Free School. On facebook, he posted such a moving tribute to remember his father that I feel sufficiently that it must be reproduced here as a testament to a life well lived. I know he won't mind.

My father was one of the pioneering and leading mangrove experts in the world. He was definitely one of a kind, what his colleagues would call a non-conformist, and I suppose what Americans like to term a “maverick”. Someone who would always go against the grain.

My father’s father and both his younger brothers went to school at St Xavier’s, yet my father got on a bicycle and cycled to and from his house in town every day to study at Free School, which was more or less at the “end of the world” at that point as the road didn’t extend past there.

When my father went to study in Australia, travel by air was really expensive, so he went by ship. It was a two- week journey, and he was befriended early on by a chatty priest. Perhaps the priest saw someone who might be receptive to conversion. However, after a few days of theological debates, the priest was duly convinced otherwise and spent his time elsewhere …

He and many of his colleagues at USM chose to take EPF instead of pension because that would allow them to speak their minds freely, without fear of losing their pensions. This seems to be an option that they exercised early and often. He once told me that it took so long for him to be promoted to Associate Professor and Professor because he never bothered to apply for the positions. He was of the mindset that, “If my boss thinks I deserve it, then he should put my name in.”

He contributed to the reports of the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change), which was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2007. Whether this was ever really appreciated by the powers-that-be didn’t matter, because as the feedback from his colleagues, students, and others in the scientific community showed, he and his work were valued by those who matter.

The IPCC shared the Nobel Peace Prize with Al Gore. After I watched Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth, my father told me to watch The Great Global Warming Swindle as well. It’s not that he didn’t believe in climate change (“Of course the climate always changes”), but he believed in scientific accuracy over oversimplified generalisations or political or PR pandering.

So much of the local biology community has been directly or indirectly influenced by my father. Most of my biology teachers in Free School were either taught by or connected with him somehow. I asked him about what he taught about lecturing once. When asked for his profession to fill in for school forms, he would always say “scientist”. This being Malaysia, “scientist” wasn’t always accepted as a profession, so the back-up option would be “lecturer”. I once asked him what he thought about lecturing. He replied, “When your student becomes your boss, that’s when you know it’s time to stop teaching.” I think more than one of his students became his boss. That left me with the impression that he much preferred research and perhaps teaching was just a necessary evil. However, I can see from the many heartfelt and passionate tributes from his students and the many researchers and enthusiasts that he took time to inspire that this clearly was not the case. Tributes to him have shown up almost randomly on the Facebook feeds of my friends as well. He clearly left a huge impression and will be remembered fondly by so many of you. This is a wonderful thing, which we all appreciate deeply.

Swimming runs in the family. My father took me swimming starting from when I was a small kid. I only ever learned the breaststroke though, so perhaps it was good that he never went into coaching. We went swimming at the Penang Swimming Club every Saturday evening and Sunday morning, before Saturday dinners and before Sunday lunches at Jones Road, till I was in Form Five, and then went off to university. We would walk on the beach and rocks as he would look out for interesting plants or animals to point out, and then swim about 20 laps before going back for the family meal. I will always remember these times fondly.

When I was eight, he taught me how chess pieces move on one of those tiny airline magnetic boards. That was the only time I ever saw him play chess, but the lesson stuck and I’ve played ever since.

My father was a swimmer, a King Scout, a scientist and a teacher. An influencer in the true sense of the word. He did not suffer fools, but he was never afraid to say foolish things himself. He smiled and laughed readily and often. The world is a less unique place now, but one brightened by his time in it.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about where atheists go after their time here ends. I’m no closer to knowing, and I’ll never be. But what I do know is wherever that is, that place just became far, far more interesting.

Goodbye, Daddy, we will miss and remember you always.