As the title indicates, I spent nine days traveling to, visiting and returning from the country of my birth. I thought it might be of some value—if not comic relief—to compose a summary, and now I will proceed to do just that.
Early on Saturday morning, I flew from Seoul to Tokyo, Tokyo to Houston and Houston to Austin. I got my rental car (a smooth-running black Toyota Corolla) and departed the airport. My first stop was A-1 Storage, where I have kept most of my belongings since moving to Korea 4 1/2 years ago. Other than gathering some dust, they are in good shape. I pulled a few things and left. I spent that night at a motel on the northern outskirts of Austin. Dinner was purchased at the nearby Whataburger where a brown-skinned teenage girl was dutifully working the drive-up window. I asked whether she could take tips and she replied no. I smiled and handed her a dollar nonetheless.
I spent the next 48 hours in Dallas, visiting with family and a pair of former girlfriends. I met my mother, two brothers and some in-laws at the Alligator Grill in Casa Linda. The highlight was when I interrupted dinner to raise a toast to my youngest brother, Paul. He had recently completed a major career change, going from manager of a used book store to certified radiology technician. I said, among other things, that I was proud of him and that what he had pulled off was beyond me—all that math and science stuff. I think he felt sufficiently honored, and that was the point. I then adjourned to the Half-Price Bookstore on Northwest Highway where Paul had once held sway and purchased the first batch of what would come to 60 nonfiction books (the titles include Sandy Koufax/A Lefty's Legacy by Jane Leavy, Beijing Welcomes You/Unveiling the Capital City of the Future by Tom Scocca, Collapse/How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed by Jared Diamond and Jamaican Warriors/Reggae, Roots & Culture by Stephen Foehr) I planned to take back to Seoul.
I visited my mother at her new home near Greenville Avenue and took her to breakfast before traveling to Garland to meet Pam Cantrell, a girlfriend from high school days. Since she works at a law firm like me, we went there to have my will signed and notarized. Pam and I drove in her white T-Bird convertible to a house she had lived in during childhood and one of mine—we were neighbors but did not know each other during those baby-boom days—and then headed to Bryan Adams High School. We had been in the class of 1971 at a school that has seen a lot of changes over the years, many of them for the worse. At any rate, we were surprised to find the doors open on this hot summer day and went on in. We walked around a little, reminisced, took some photos to document the occasion and departed.
The other ex-GF was Carol Brandeberry. She had helped take care of me at Presbyterian Hospital after my back surgery in 1970. Carol had a long nursing career and is now semi-retired, and living in Oak Cliff. We met at Hunky’s, a hamburger joint in the Bishop Arts District and—as you might expect after four decades—had many things to discuss. She has suffered and struggled with a variety of medical problems but has come through in one piece; I admire and respect her. In some ways, she is more beautiful than the shimmering blond-headed cutie I knew at BA.
I drove back to Austin on Tuesday afternoon. Here is a condensed version of who I met and what I did over the next three-plus days:
• Gregg Evans, a long-time running buddy and proud graduate of Ohio State University, was going across the Congress Avenue bridge in the mid-day heat. I stopped and talked with him for a few minutes.
• Dr. Joe Neal, former director of the University of Texas International Office, invited me to his home off 45th Street to discuss details of his memoirs, which I am editing. While there, I went next door to talk to his sister, Mary. She is in her 80s but has brighter eyes and a livelier mind than most people one-quarter her age.
• Dr. Margaret Berry, respected and beloved historian of UT, entertained me for two hours in her apartment at Westminster Manor.
• Kenny Hausmann is another guy with whom I ran dozens of races over a 25-year period—he finished ahead of me most of those times. We met at his office on Balcones Drive and talked about a wide range of issues.
• Bob Gibbons, like Gregg and Kenny, was a faster runner than I. Bob recently recovered from a bicycle accident involving a deer, and I wanted to see how he’s doing these days. Interesting, articulate, good-hearted and relentlessly liberal, he teaches Spanish at a local junior high school.
• Susan Salling has been doing my taxes since the mid-1980s. She has an office on West 9th Street full of charming and intelligent women. I love my CPA, and that’s why I bought lunch for her and all the others.
• Bill Wendlandt, MVP of the 1982 UT basketball team, was in Idaho but I called him from the downstairs desk at his apartment complex overlooking the Colorado River. Bill is a high-roller in the field of commercial real estate.
• Lupita, a Spanish-speaking lady at a taco restaurant on South Lamar, is one of my favorites. She is kind and friendly, and has excellent skills with her customers.
• Chris Gunter, a big-shot lawyer with an office just west of the Travis County Courthouse, is yet another runner. I stopped by, but Chris was away on legal business so I just left a couple of Korea-oriented gifts with his secretary.
• Don Murdock and his wife Mary met me at Double Dave’s Pizza on Duval Street. He is a retired fireman and part-time musician who often goes to Vegas and tries to beat the odds. I first came to know Don from the Austin racing scene; his Texas accent is even stronger than mine.
I swam thrice at Stacy Pool and went to three places where I always liked having breakfast: Magnolia Café, Einstein’s Bagels and The Upper Crust. I visited a trio of offices where I had once worked—G&S Typesetters (out of business; the building is now the Mexican Consulate), McElroy Translation Company and Psychonomic Society Publications (also defunct).
I was dismayed to see so many tattoos. That regrettable trend was on display several years before I left, but now it seems that everybody and his uncle has tats. Full sleeves, up the neck, on the legs, everywhere. In Austin, if you are not tatted up, you are just not cool, or so it seems.
My return flight to Korea would leave at 7:30 a.m., so I was at the airport long before dawn. Nevertheless, the United Airlines counter was crowded. I got to the front and was horrified to find that my passport was missing. Where in the world could it be? I stepped aside and began frantically going through my baggage. I finally found it in a pocket I had forgotten in my backpack. Oh, I was sweating bullets for a while. We flew to San Francisco and were supposed to be there briefly, but a problem manifested itself while the plane to Seoul was hurtling down the runway. The pilot pulled back the Boeing 747's throttle to prevent takeoff and then informed us that the spoilers on the wings were malfunctioning. We taxied back to the airport, got off and wasted 7 hours before boarding another plane. I got home—and let there be no mistake that home is Seoul—just before midnight.
I missed my friends, colleagues at Hansung, the little kiddos in Daegu, various routines and the simple pleasures of living in Korea. I was glad to be back.
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