Chapter 24. He Became a Favorite Star Among Retirees
Chapter 24. He Became a Favorite Star Among Retirees
Was the ’63 C2 really this popular?
The moment I brought up the Corvette restoration, Gary’s eyes practically lost all reason.
Of course, once he heard that it was not even my car to begin with, and that it was not for sale, he immediately became visibly dejected.
I feel like Santa who gave out a Christmas present and then snatched it right back.
“Whew... Well, a rare car like that was never going to come into my orbit so easily. Anyway, here, take this—my number. If you restore another good car in the future, you absolutely have to call me. A Corvette would be great, but I’d gladly take a boxy pickup truck or a big-block muscle car too.”
Gary pulled an old leather business card holder from his back pocket and handed me a card.
The card had nothing on it except the name Gary Thompson and a phone number.
So he really was just a retired collector.
“Ahem, if you don’t mind, perhaps you could take my number too. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, mind you... but I’m looking for a car as well. A Chevelle SS would be ideal.”
Just then, another elderly man who had been sitting nearby suddenly approached and handed me a slip of paper with his name and number on it.
And that became the opening of the floodgates. As though a dam had burst, business cards and phone numbers from retirees started pouring in at me from every direction.
“If you’re good enough to be working on a ’63 C2, then surely you can get hold of something like a ’70 Camaro, can’t you? I’d appreciate it.”
“What I want isn’t difficult at all. A newer Charger—but fully restored in the police version.”
“I’m looking for a ’71 Barracuda. But if not that, then call me if you come across any decent old Mopar.”
(Translator’s Note: Mopar — Originally derived from “Motor Parts,” the term became the parts and service brand associated with Chrysler and later its successor companies. In enthusiast use, it commonly refers to Chrysler-affiliated vehicles such as Dodge, Plymouth, and Chrysler models. The branded term dates to 1937.)
Caught in the sudden whirlwind of business cards and phone numbers, I felt like I was about to lose my mind.
Still, I made sure to jot down each person’s desired model and general preferences on the cards and slips of paper they handed me.
They may not mean anything right now, but in the end, this kind of thing is all an asset.
“Mr. Gary, Jason! You two still talking? The parade looks like it’s about to start.”
It seemed Andrew had finally finished his social rounds and turned back toward us. His timing could not have been better.
“Andrew, let’s go.”
Using him as a shield, I barely managed to escape the circle of retirees, who were busily engaged in passionate debates about their favorite types of cars.
“Haha, Jason, your face has already gone half-gaunt. Still, you collected the cards well, right?”
Andrew laughed when he saw how worn out I looked.
He seemed to have talked with twice as many people as I had, yet he still looked full of energy.
Maybe he’s not Korean after all. Maybe he’s an alien...
In any case, I really was grateful to Andrew.
Just like he had said when he invited me to the event, it had been a huge help now that I had started restoration work.
It was also the first time I realized that so many people carried a dream car in some corner of their hearts.
“Yes, thanks to you, I picked up a whole pile of potential customers. I appreciate you thinking of me.”
“Come on, it’s nothing. Really.”
Andrew did not make a big deal out of it at all.
So there are cops like this too...
Living in the United States, where public authority was strong, I had always had a rigid, somewhat overbearing image of the police.
This made me reconsider that image.
“We will now begin the car parade. Parents, please make sure your children do not run into the path of the vehicles, and keep a reasonable distance.”
Just then, an announcement for the car parade came over the megaphone.
“Looks like it’s starting. Let’s head over where Karen is.”
Andrew pushed his way through the crowd and moved to the front.
The parade included all kinds of police cars, from older models to newer ones, all privately owned, with the sirens and official police markings removed.
There were Chevrolet Caprices, Ford Tauruses, Dodge Chargers, and right in the middle of them was the Crown Victoria P71 I had restored.
“Man, when it comes to police cars, old-school or newer, Crown Victorias are the only ones for me—whether it’s the old LTD or the newer P71.”
That came from an older man watching nearby. Judging by the Retired written on his cap, he seemed to be a retired police officer.
“That’s right. Honestly, among those, the Caprice was fine in the older generation, but once the newer models came around, it just wasn’t the same.”
Another old man, who looked like a former colleague of his, chimed in.
Hmm, this is interesting. So even within the police, people had their favorites and dislikes depending on the model.
Then again, if it were me, I thought I would enjoy patrols more if I liked the car I was driving. But if I had to drive a car every day that I did not care for, I imagined it would take a lot of the joy out of the job.
“But if we’re picking the absolute worst... it’s the Taurus!”
“The Taurus!”
The two men spoke at the exact same time.
There was even a Taurus in today’s parade, and if its owner happened to hear that, it would probably hurt...
Still, there are reasons police hated it that much.
People had always quietly assumed that a police car meant a big body and rear-wheel drive.
Then, for the first time, that rule was broken with the adoption of a front-wheel-drive model—and that model was none other than the Ford Taurus.
On top of that, its design was rounded rather than boxy, so there were complaints that it did not look imposing enough.
Among officers in the field at the time, there was even a joking saying that if you drove out in a Taurus, people on the road were less likely to move aside for you.
Of course, that was probably exaggerated...
What was funny was that, because the boxy police car was so dominant at the time, the film RoboCop had actually leaned into the Taurus instead.
Its rounded body had apparently looked different and futuristic.
In any case, while I was unexpectedly listening to these interesting stories from retired police officers, Karen’s father drove by in the P71 and waved at me.
It looked like he had been taking good care of the exterior with wax after receiving the car from me, because the paint under the sunlight looked smooth as a mirror.
“Wow! Dad, you look amazing!”
“You look like you’re still on active duty!”
Karen and Andrew shouted out in cheers from the front.
They’re right. It really suits him.
Cars really did seem to have owners they were meant for.
A peaceful park under the midday sun. The warm—no, hot—sunlight. Karen’s father, basking in applause from family and former colleagues, reliving a piece of his former glory.
Watching the bright smile on his face made me feel strangely proud myself.
“Jason! Over there—that’s my father.”
A moment later, Andrew pointed at another man driving the same type of car as Karen’s father.
“The one wearing Ray-Ban sunglasses, by any chance?”
(Translator’s Note: Ray-Ban — A famous eyewear brand created by Bausch & Lomb. Ray-Ban’s own brand history dates it to 1937, originally tied to anti-glare lenses developed for U.S. military pilots.)
“That’s right. Dad! Over here, over here!”
Andrew waved energetically.
His father spotted him and stuck a hand out the window, giving a firm thumbs-up.
“...Your father has an incredible presence.”
“Hahaha, yeah, he does make an impression.”
It’s not easy for an Asian man to radiate that much aura while standing among white and Black men.
A moment ago, I had honestly felt like I was watching a scene from The Terminator.
After the parade ended, I went over and greeted Andrew’s parents as well.
“Jason, this is my mother.”
“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I greeted her politely with a small bow in the Korean manner.
“Oh my? Je. i. son. Your Korean is very good too? It’s nice to meet you.”
Andrew’s mother pronounced my English name with perfect Korean inflection. It felt unfamiliar, yet warmly familiar at the same time.
“My husband absolutely loved the car Jason made for him. So where are you living these days?”
“I’m staying out on the southern outskirts. Farther out than Tucson.”
“Oh, then that’s really quite remote. Are you living there with your parents?”
“Mom, that’s a little—”
Andrew quickly tried to cut in from the side.
“My parents have both passed away. I live alone in a warehouse while I work on restoration, so that’s why I ended up out in the outskirts.”
It was not exactly something I needed to hide, nor was it anything I was ashamed of, so I answered calmly.
“Oh...”
It must have been an unexpected answer, because Andrew’s mother was briefly at a loss for words. But only for a moment.
“Hmm... then come have dinner at our house tonight. It’s been a long time since you’ve had Korean food, hasn’t it? You can bring the puppy too.”
“Uh, well...”
“Yes, don’t refuse. Do come.”
At that moment, Andrew’s father returned after finishing with the cars.
“My name is Lee Hyuk-jun. In English, David Lee. Andrew speaks highly of you. Says you seem like an honest young man.”
He held out his thick hand for a handshake.
“I enjoyed the parade. I’m Jason.”
Clasp—
The moment I saw those forearms like forged steel, I instinctively tightened my grip out of old Navy SEAL habit.
“Oh?”
Behind his sunglasses, I could see his eyes widen just slightly.
“It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve met a decent young man. Well then, we can talk more at home over dinner... hm? What’s this puppy you’ve got?”
Andrew’s father had been speaking in his deep, weighty voice when he suddenly whipped off his sunglasses as though throwing them aside.
“I brought him with me. He’ll probably need to come with me to your house too. Do you dislike dogs, by any chance?”
“What? This cutie’s coming to our house too!? Hahahahaha! Come here, come here! Who’s a good boy?”
Uh... what? I’m getting very confused all of a sudden.
It no longer seemed as though Andrew’s father could even hear what I was saying.
He was practically kneeling flat on the grass, making eye contact with Dusty.
At the same time, he carefully reached out and began stroking Dusty’s head, chin, and scruff as though touching something precious.
Surprisingly, Dusty did not seem to dislike his touch either.
“Ah, he’s doing it again... My dad absolutely loves dogs. The one he had been raising passed away not long ago, so he’s been pretty down ever since.”
Watching the scene from the side, Andrew explained it as casually as if it were no big deal.
“Oh, aren’t you adorable? Who are you, huh? Where did you come from? Are you coming to our house with us tonight?”
“H... ha... ha...”
There were still red marks on my hand from the grip match we had just had...
So the Terminator was a dog person. No—a dog robot.
In the end, unable to refuse the dinner invitation, I found myself visiting Andrew’s parents’ house, which was not very far from the event grounds, somewhere near Phoenix.
It was a typical single-story Arizona home, with sand-colored exterior walls, a red tile roof, and a small desert-style front garden.
“Excuse me.”
I lined up my shoes neatly at the entrance and stepped inside.
A house where you went in without shoes—aside from the house I had lived in as a child, it was my first time in a place like that.
“Come here, you too.”
I carefully wiped Dusty’s paws with the wet wipes I had brought.
“No peeing in here. This is inside the house, got it? If it’s urgent, you have to go outside.”
Remarkably enough, ever since I brought him home, Dusty had never relieved himself anywhere he recognized as indoors.
So I was not too worried, but still, just in case.
“Come in. You must be hungry, right? Dinner’s almost ready, so wait just a little.”
From the kitchen, Andrew’s mother, wearing an apron, greeted us in a lively voice.
“Ahem, don’t worry about the dog needing to go. We still have some pads left in the house.”
His father said that with a stern expression.
Although his eyes still could not seem to leave Dusty.
“Huh? The dog really came too? What’s his name?”
Just then, a girl who looked about high-school age came running out from deeper inside the living room and crouched down in front of the puppy.
“Hello. The puppy’s name is Dusty. I’m Jason.”
“Wow, Dusty, you’re really cute.”
“Hey! Jenny! Aren’t you going to greet the guest properly?”
Andrew, who had come out right behind her, hurriedly scolded her.
“Ah, sorry about that. Hello. I’m Jenny.”
Jenny immediately got to her feet and bowed her head.
Seeing how her eyes lit up the moment she saw the puppy, and how full of energy every movement was, I could easily imagine what the family atmosphere was usually like.
“All right, now come and sit down. Dinner’s ready.”
Right on cue, Andrew’s mother came out of the kitchen.
The dining room was already filled with a delicious aroma.
That distinct Korean smell—rich, savory, deeply familiar, and sorely missed.
“Wow, did you really make all of this yourself?”
On the long wooden dining table sat kimchi stew still bubbling away, bulgogi piled up like a mountain, japchae, and various Korean side dishes that were not easy to come across in America.
(Translator’s Note: Kimchi — A broad category of Korean fermented vegetable dishes, most famously napa cabbage seasoned with chili powder, garlic, ginger, and salted seafood. Grilled kimchi is often paired with pork belly because the heat and rendered fat soften its acidity.)
“Well? Aren’t you glad you came? My mother’s kimchi stew, in particular, is something I proudly claim is the best in all Arizona. She even makes kimchi herself every year.”
Andrew nudged me in the side as he spoke.
She even makes her own kimchi. She really takes Korean food seriously.
Following his recommendation, I served myself a large ladleful of the kimchi stew first.
A classic kimchi stew, loaded with generous chunks of pork and tofu.
Who would have thought that a single bowl of stew like this could make my heart pound so hard?
With trembling hands, I took a spoonful of the broth first.
“Huh?”
The moment it touched my tongue, rich umami flooded my mouth—garlic, red pepper flakes, pork juices, all of it.
“This is unbelievable.”
The sourness and spice drawn out from the well-fermented kimchi were mixed in a perfect proportion. Yet it was never sweet, and the finish was astonishingly clean.
It was that exact taste—the one I had only ever eaten at home as a child, the one I had completely forgotten for more than ten years.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days...
The stew was not even particularly spicy, yet the bridge of my nose stung.
“Well? Does it suit your taste?”
When I kept staring silently at the stew, Andrew’s mother spoke first.
“Yes, it’s really... really delicious. Saying it’s the best in Arizona isn’t an exaggeration.”
It was heartfelt praise.
Cars could be restored anywhere in the world if you could source the right parts, but fresh ingredients like these could not have been easy to come by.
“Oh my, best in Arizona, indeed. Still, since you like this old-fashioned kimchi stew taste, you really must be Korean. The cabbage in this is from Salinas Valley, you know. It’s the closest thing to Korean cabbage, though it’s firmer, so you need a little technique when salting it. All right, enough of that now—just relax and eat plenty.”
She waved her hands as though embarrassed.
And yet her lips were curved into a deeply satisfied smile.
Like a proper Korean family, there was not much talking during the meal, which meant I could focus completely on eating.
I’ve been to Korean restaurants in LA a few times, but this is on a completely different level.
The bulgogi had drawn out a gentle sweetness by blending onion and pear into the marinade, and the japchae, Andrew said, was made with properly sourced sesame oil she had gone out of her way to get.
Lately, I had heard that even in Korea, plenty of people missed home-cooked meals. But to find Korean food at this level in America...
Luxury doesn’t get much more luxurious than this.
Grateful for their kindness, I did my very best to eat well—and to eat a lot.
After all, there was no telling when I would get to eat a home-cooked meal like this again.
“Hm, you eat quite well. That’s how a man ought to be.”
“Hehe, seeing someone eat so heartily makes all the cooking worth it.”
Andrew’s mother had even prepared a separate unseasoned meat dish just for the puppy.
“Woof! Woof!”
Thanks to that, Dusty was having the time of his life too. His pink belly had puffed out so round that it looked like a balloon.
“Wow, I really can’t eat another bite. I think I ate three times more than usual.”
A little later, I finally surrendered and set down my spoon. Saying three times was being modest—I had probably eaten closer to five times more than usual.
My stomach felt filled all the way up to my throat. There was not even room for a sip of water.
“Mom, stop giving him more. This mister... he really ate a lot...”
Beside me, Jenny was staring at me with a mixture of amazement and concern.
“Oh my, really? Then I’d better bring out dessert to finish things off.”
“...What?”
That caught me off guard. Did Korean food originally come with dessert? And wasn’t dessert French?
Fortunately, what Andrew’s mother brought out was only oranges and pineapple.
She said it helped with digestion.
After that, Andrew’s father and Jenny spent the rest of the time teaching Dusty commands like “sit,” “turn,” and “paw,” laughing the whole time.
Meanwhile, in the living room, I spent time talking with Andrew and his mother about life in America as Koreans.
Before coming, I had expected it to feel very awkward, but it ended up being far more comfortable than I ever imagined.
By the time it was finally time to leave, Andrew’s mother even packed both my hands full with Korean side dishes to take home.
“You really didn’t have to do all this...”
I was so grateful for their kindness that I honestly did not know what to say.
“Just take them. If you leave without them, you’ll regret it later.”
“...Thank you.”
I bowed deeply.
“Don’t mention it. This is just how people live. All right then, drive carefully on the way back. And don’t go getting caught by the police for no reason. My juniors aren’t as soft as I am.”
Andrew’s father patted me on the shoulder.
Maybe it was because both his hands were so heavy, but I felt reassured all the way down to my heart.