Seattle herbalist Hen Sen Chin
Seattle’s longest-practicing herbalist, Hen Sen Chin, has died:
“Born June 13, 1923, in the village of Tai Shan in Canton, China, Mr. Chin came to Seattle at age 9. He worked as a cook and opened a restaurant before deciding on the path that would become his consuming passion: becoming a doctor.
Mr. Chin returned to Taiwan and Hong Kong, where he was the youngest student to graduate from the herb school in Hong Kong at age 20. He then returned to Seattle and in 1950 opened Hen Sen Herbs Company on the corner of Eighth Avenue and King Street. He remained there for 42 years before his inventory of more than 1,000 varieties of herbs drove him to buy his own building on Beacon Hill, where he worked until reluctantly retiring at 80.
The business remains open, with Mr. Chin’s goddaughter, May Tom, carrying on after his death.
Mr. Chin never regretted working so long. “He said ‘this is what I enjoy doing, it’s not a job, it’s a passion,’ ” said his daughter, Betty, of Newcastle. “He was famous for his shine, his glow.”
He was 45 years old before he returned to Hong Kong, in 1968, to find a wife, selected for him by a matchmaker. For Sui Mai, who was 18, he was her first boyfriend and her first kiss.
“It was love at first sight,” she said. “He was really nice, and he liked to heal people — handsome, too.”
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While Mr. Chin’s motto was to do everything in moderation, he was never moderate about his work. He was an old-school doctor, making house calls, seeing patients even when they couldn’t pay him, and taking his hard-up clients to dinner. Most people knew him affectionately as “Doc.”
He mixed all his remedies himself, forming the pills by hand. About 80 percent of his clientele was white, often driven to alternative remedies after Western medicine had failed. Patients paid to fly Mr. Chin to other states, and to Canada, Paris, and beyond. Other patients simply mailed him photos of their tongues for his expert diagnosis.
He maintained his commitment to herbal remedies until the end, taking no Western medicine even during his last days. As they made the funeral arrangements, Mr. Chin’s wife and daughter knew just what to put in Mr. Chin’s casket: A deck of cards and a pack of cigarettes — he was a lifelong smoker. His scrapbook, full of memories. And the meticulous records he kept for all of his patients that have died, “so that he can keep studying while he is in heaven, or wherever he is,” Betty said.”
