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The beginning:
Coming to America-
In August
1971, I arrived in Washington, D.C. with only $136.76,
limited English, no skills, no connections, and one big
dream: to become a famous artist in America.
To survive, I
took every job I could find. My first was changing snow
tires during that year’s harsh D.C. winter, at “Market
Tires” in Bethesda, near NIH. Some customers tipped me a
quarter. On lucky days, fifty cents or even a dollar.
One
kind-hearted customer gave me a 20-pound frozen turkey the
day before Thanksgiving.
I had no idea
what Thanksgiving was—and even less idea what to do with a
huge, vacuum-sealed frozen bird. I excitedly handed it to
Charly, a tall, skinny American coworker, thinking he’d say
thanks and take it home.
Instead, he
and a few others turned it into a makeshift bowling ball,
tossing it across the icy lot in front of the dumpster,
aiming to knock over stacked metal buckets. No one took it
home. When they finished, they left the poor turkey, now
bruised and missing chunks of meat, by the dumpster and sped
off in their “hot rods,” laughing.
So the turkey lived (and died) as a bowling ball.
I juggled multiple part-time jobs—dishwasher, waiter, and
line cook—at Howard Johnson's, which was very popular at the
time with many locations. I also worked at another branch of
Market Tires as a tire changer near UMD—to
be continued in depth...
Fast Forward:
Hitchhiking and Getting Around Without a Car
- The Mustang Story
I didn’t have a
car and hitchhiked everywhere. Luckily, it was the
“brotherly love” era, and hitchhiking was a common part of
life.
Having a car, regardless of how used it was, was at the top
of my bucket list. I had saved up $150 to buy a car from a
very kind mechanic, Jack, whom I worked with at Market
Tires. He called to say he’d found a good used car, fixed it
up for me, and that I could pick it up on Saturday. I was
very excited and couldn’t wait to get it.
I went there on Saturday to pick it up. Jack, with a long
face, told me that his wife had given the car to her nephew,
not knowing it was meant for me. I was heartbroken. I had
been so excited about finally having a car and no longer
having to hitchhike.
Oh well—as they say, it wasn’t meant to be. I told myself,
'Life must have better plans for me—to believe.’
Not long
after, a car salesman at the Ford dealership handed me the
keys to a brand-new Ford Mustang.
The whole event started one Sunday afternoon. I was walking
outside a nearby shopping center with a friend when we
noticed several colorful flags fluttering in the wind across
the street. Curious, we wandered through the parking lot
toward them. Suddenly, I saw some dollar bills flying in the
breeze, tumbling past me and landing a few feet away. I
chased after them and picked them up. It turned out to be
seven one-dollar bills, which is a lucky number.
That was a lot of money back then—remember, the minimum wage
was only $2 an hour. I looked at my friend with a big smile
and said, “We got our dinner money!”
We crossed the street and went into the dealership. The
place was empty except for a half-asleep salesman, who
suddenly jumped up with his eyes wide open as if he’d seen a
ghost. He hurried over, greeted us, and asked what kind of
car we were looking for. Honestly, I was caught off guard.
Buying a new car from a dealership had never crossed my
mind.
I said, “Mustang.”
“You’re in luck! We just received our ’72 shipment,” he
said, and led us to the back lot.
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