It Couldn’t Be Helped
Ring-ring— ring-ring—
The living room phone rang without pause.
My uncle yanked the receiver away from his ear and shouted, “Good grief, just a moment! Form a line, everyone, a line! You’re going to snap the phone line in half!”
Voices murmured outside the front door.
My father cracked the door open, peered outside, then slammed it shut again. “Good lord, they’ve packed the yard solid. Was unemployment really this bad in Texas? There’s still more than an hour before the interviews even start!”
All of it was the result of the hiring notice we’d put up.
When I picked up the black-and-white flyer, the bold Gothic type made the numbers jump straight out at me.
[$7.50 an hour / 40 hours guaranteed per week / 50% medical insurance support / fuel allowance]
I looked down at the stack of résumés that covered the living room table—no, had spilled all the way to the floor.
“The federal minimum wage is four dollars and twenty-five cents right now. We’re offering almost double that.”
“Don’t remind me. I posted just one flyer at the Korean community center yesterday, and within thirty minutes the phone was ringing off the hook. With GM and everyone else shutting factories down one after another, people are desperate.”
My uncle snorted as he stuffed the interview fees into envelopes for the applicants.
My mother sat at the center of the dining table, pushing her magnifying glasses back into place.
In front of her was the first sorted pile of applications.
“The conditions are exceptional, so we have to separate the wheat from the chaff. We can’t just hire anyone and have them start gossiping nonsense about how cheap the company gas is, or how suspicious that is, can we?”
“Right. What we need are people with sealed lips.”
My father lowered the blinds over the window.
As the sunlight leaking through the slats cut off, the living room grew noticeably darker.
From the television in the corner, the anchor’s voice drifted out.
[······The unemployment rate has broken through 7.8 percent, the worst since the Reagan era. Consumer confidence has frozen in the aftermath of the Gulf War, and in Houston, oil companies are setting new bankruptcy records for the third quarter in a row······]
At the federal minimum wage of four dollars and twenty-five cents, a family of four could not survive a month.
So of course people were flocking to our offer of seven dollars and fifty cents an hour.
With medical insurance support and a fuel allowance on top of it, it was no wonder they were crowding in, considering this wasn’t some giant corporation but a nameless local gas station.
My mother lifted up one résumé.
“James Miller. Forty-five years old. Former long-haul trucker. Unemployed for six months after his freight company went under······ Special note: twenty years without an accident. Night driving specialist. I think this one looks good.”
My uncle wetted the edge of an old notebook with his tongue and nodded. “Ah, that guy? I went to a pub near the company he used to work for yesterday and did a little digging. His nickname was the ‘Mute Bear.’ Apparently he drove all day and never once touched the radio. Even when he drank with the others, he’d just pick at the snacks and never talk about himself. They said he’s incredibly tight-lipped. Hates repeating other people’s business more than anything.”
“Being quiet is fine, but if he can’t actually work, that’s a problem.”
“From what I heard, he’s good at the job too. All of his former coworkers spoke well of him.”
“Then he’s hired. Keeps his mouth shut, a veteran behind the wheel, and most importantly, he’s got four people depending on him—his wife and three daughters. A man with a family doesn’t go wandering off looking for mischief.”
My mother picked up another résumé.
“This one used to own a repair shop. He had to close it because he couldn’t pay the rent······ and he’s been working on diesel engines for more than twenty years. His skills should be solid. Son, set these applicants aside.”
I silently took the documents and filed them into a separate binder.
All the while, Mother’s hands never stopped moving.
“This one’s a little iffy.”
She lifted another résumé and scanned it.
“MBA graduate, five years at a big corporation. He’s probably talented, but he doesn’t seem like someone who’d stay with a small business like ours for long. Let’s call him again when we’ve grown bigger.”
She flipped to another page.
“Three pages for a personal statement. Plenty of passion, but······ this sounds more suited to sales. Probably not right for us.”
She set that one aside as well.
The pile of applicants we planned to hire was growing thicker, slowly but surely.
* * *
At two in the afternoon, interviews began.
We set up a folding table in the yard by the front entrance and called the applicants up one by one.
It was a shabby setup, but every applicant’s eyes were serious.
The first was a middle-aged man with grease ground into his hands.
“I worked at a Shell garage for fifteen years. Engines, transmissions—there isn’t anything I can’t fix.”
“Why did you leave?”
“······The headquarters decided to convert everything to direct management and axed all the contract workers.”
“When was the hardest time?”
“Last Christmas. The company had gone bankrupt, and I hadn’t been paid in three months, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell the kids. They ended up comforting me instead, saying it was okay if Santa didn’t bring them presents this year······”
The next applicant was a woman in her forties.
“My husband lost a leg in a workplace accident. I have to earn the money. I can do anything. I’ve handled bookkeeping and tax filings, and I can cover a large operation on my own!”
There were tears glistening in her eyes, but her voice was steady.
Then came the third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth······
Their faces were all different, but their eyes were the same.
Desperation.
The urgent need to survive.
I listened to each of their stories to the end.
“You’ve all worked hard. We’ll call you with the results by the end of the day.”
Everyone received an envelope with a small interview fee inside.
The ones who were hired would be overjoyed at the thought of feeding their families, and even those who weren’t would at least be able to buy their households a meal today instead of wasting the day away. There was relief in that, too.
* * *
By the time the sun began to tilt low, the last applicant had gone home.
My mother picked up the receiver.
“Hello? Is this James Miller’s residence? This is Lee's Gas & Service.”
Clattering noises came from the other end of the line.
Given the loud bang, he must have dropped something like a stainless-steel bowl.
[Yes, yes! It’s me! I’ve been waiting!]
I could hear the man forcing his breath in and out, like someone who had been standing frozen beside the phone all this time.
“We’ve finished reviewing your résumé. Mr. Miller, can you start work tomorrow?”
For a while, there was nothing but silence on the other end.
Only the sound of a long inhale continued, and then at last a trembling voice came back.
[Really······? You mean······ I······ got it?]
The man’s voice cracked.
[I’m forty-five years old, and all I know how to do is hold a steering wheel······ These days, places don’t even look at the paperwork before turning me away for being too old······]
“That’s exactly why we hired you.”
Mother’s voice turned warm and gentle.
“These days, younger people quit the moment things get a little hard. We need ironclad veterans who can hold their ground in one place. Looking at your background, you’ve gone twenty years without an accident. We know how impressive that is.”
[Thank you······ thank you so much······]
He seemed to choke up and couldn’t get the words out for a while.
[Thank you, truly, boss. My rent’s already been two months behind this month······ If I couldn’t pay by next week, we were going to be thrown out······ I kept wondering where I’d even take my daughters······]
Mother’s own eyes began to redden for no reason at all.
[I didn’t know how I was supposed to tell the kids we’d have to move again, that they’d have to change schools again······ really······ truly······]
Then a tiny voice cut in from beside the receiver.
[Dad? Why are you crying?]
It was a young girl’s voice.
[Did Dad get a job? So we don’t have to move anymore?]
At that innocent question, even my uncle sniffled and rubbed at his nose.
My mother spoke again.
“Mr. Miller, the conditions we’re offering aren’t anything extraordinary, but for someone who works hard, we’ll make sure you’re treated with sincerity. We’ll give out incentives based on monthly performance, and on Thanksgiving and Christmas we’ll even provide turkeys and gifts for the kids.”
[I, I’ll work hard!]
The man’s voice burst out.
[I’ll work myself to the bone! I’ll never forget this kindness for the rest of my life!]
Mother’s nose turned red as she hung up the receiver and dialed the next number.
The dial spun, and after three rings a deep voice answered.
[Hello?]
“Mr. Thomas Anderson? This is Lee's Gas & Service.”
[······Are you calling about the job?]
The man’s voice was low and calm, but the end of it trembled just a little.
It sounded like someone repeatedly telling himself not to expect anything if he didn’t want to be disappointed.
Mother said, “Yes, we’ve finished reviewing your documents. You’ve been hired.”
Silence fell for a moment.
[······Excuse me, but did you check my age? I’m fifty-seven.]
“Yes. You’ve worked on gas station equipment for more than thirty years, haven’t you?”
[······They say nobody needs an old man anywhere these days.]
The man’s voice quivered almost imperceptibly.
[The day I shut my shop down with my own hands, I swore I’d never pick up a wrench again. But······ this hand doesn’t know how to do anything except work on engines.]
“We need those skilled hands and that experience, Mr. Anderson. There’s a lot of equipment at our station that needs attention.”
For a long while, there was nothing.
At last, a rough breath came through, followed by a voice gone a little ragged around the edges.
[······Thank you. Truly. When should I start?]
“The sooner, the better.”
[I can come today if needed, though. Would tomorrow be all right?]
“That would be perfect.”
If Miller was a man carrying the weight of a family, then this man was someone trying to preserve a craftsman’s pride.
Mother lowered the receiver.
“Now, next is······”
Her eyes were still red as she picked up the next résumé.
That was how Texas looked in late 1991.
In this land of recession, what was happening was not some simple exchange of wages for labor.
It was recognizing the desperation of breadwinners and giving their lifelines a chance to open up again.
I walked toward the window.
Beyond the dark horizon of the backyard, I could hear the faint thud of a pump working.
···Thunk! ···Thunk! ···Thunk!
Out there in the dark, black gold was still rising without rest.
People would gather, and the organization would take shape.
The workers my parents and uncle had recruited lit one point after another on the map in my head.
The next step was already set.
To establish a legitimate oil drilling company.
Up to now, we had only been quietly siphoning oil from the backyard, but that would change.
We would put up a proper sign, apply to the government for drilling rights, and expand the business openly, with our heads held high.
······Which meant we’d need equipment too.
The prefabricated drilling rig we used in the backyard could only go as deep as thirty meters, but with proper equipment, we could drill down to a kilometer.
Right now, the market was in a slump.
With oil prices in free fall and oil companies collapsing one after another, equipment worth tens of millions of won was being dumped on the market for a pittance.
Almost-new machines that had never been used would be waiting in auction houses, covered in dust.
If I made one round through a liquidation warehouse in Houston, I could get everything I needed.
······And for the drilling-rights application and company formation, I’d need lawyers and accountants too. If I went back to Harvard, I could find as many of those as I wanted. Talented, reliable people.
That was one of the reasons I could not afford to give up my Harvard degree.
The empty plan in my head began to gain flesh, piece by piece.
The back-alley little shop life was over now!
From here on out, it was time to build the skeleton of a giant oil company that would swallow Texas whole.
My mother’s lively voice came from behind me.
“Of course. You’re really hired. Come in by seven tomorrow morning. We’ll provide work clothes.”
The receiver clicked down, then the dial began to turn again.
Mother kept calling each person one by one to inform them they’d passed.
[Thank you! Thank you so much!]
The voices of people crying and laughing echoed endlessly through the receiver.
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