By Ellen Thun
Copyright 2001

The Census Bureau released its Year 2000 report. Asians in California - and Koreans are listed as Asians - are now 13% of the state population and the third-largest in population. The Los Angeles Times (3/30/01) study added, "Demographers believe the majority of Asian population growth is now driven by birth, rather than immigration." Also noted, "The wide gap between rich and poor Asians identified in the 1990 census remains. A 50.5% majority of San Marino residents now report Asian ancestry, and the Asian population has exploded in affluent areas such as Arcadia, Diamond Bar and Rowland Heights. Meanwhile, large pockets of poverty remain in places like Los Angeles Chinatown, South El Monte and Long Beach’s Little Pnom Penh."

No mention of Koreatown which had its start in the early 1960s. That was when Koreans flew into LAX. They did not come steerage class in ships that took two weeks to cross the Pacific. They came like everyone else, passengers in modern airlines, and they were immigrants. They did not look like the traditional history-book immigrants, bundled up, their worldly goods bundled up too, hand-carried for lack of baggage service. No, they were the new immigrants in America, heads held high knowing what they wanted, knowing the magic words "open sesame" that would make their dream come true, would make everything right. Even problems and headaches they’d left at home in Korea.

Among their numbers was Myung Park (not her correct name) arriving with her husband. Mr. Park was investing in a store in the Long Beach area. He secured the business through a Korean entrepreneur he trusted, and the store proved everything the man said it would. It was a gold mine, much like the gold mines early immigrants 100 years before sought in the Golden State. It was a variety store selling Japanese-made products Americans missed during the war years. Korean products came later and cost more. The best seller was the sandal or rubber thongs (rubber tires recycled from America) called "go-aheads", plus the usual assortment sold before World War II: teapots, dishes, trinkets, knicknacks, silk scarves, pictures, and so on and on. Another feature was the owner could manage by himself and save on wages. And what was his wife planning?

She planned to become a licensed beauty shop owner. In Korea she worked at many service jobs to supplement the family income. Her education was limited. She preferred the work in the beauty salons that made women pretty, sometimes beautiful, but she never rose above that of a helper washing customers’ hair and helping them in and out of their dresses. She couldn’t afford to get her license to advance herself. Now she was in America and was married to a husband who could give her a year at a beauty college.

She found her shop, after working getting experience in other Korean workplaces. It was located on Vermont Avenue, near Franklin, and first opened by a Korean who named it after herself, "Sunny’s Beauty Salon". Sunny was a young person and beautiful. Her customers were middle-aged, middle-class Americans who probably shuddered inwardly looking upon her youthfulness. Sunny did not smile much, in fact her moods clearly showed on her face. And American ladies like a pleasant smile from those serving them. Sunny looked withdrawn most of the time, and small wonder. She was not making the rent money on the lease. The ladies came infrequently. Also, "the flower children" and the hippies invaded Hollywood and older persons avoided them, swarming the streets of Hollywood as the hippies were doing. Hollywood wasn’t the same. What was once an American neighborhood became mixed (multicultural, is the expression today), and only Quinns, a health store, and Sarno, an Italian bakery and restaurant, remained. Sunny sold out to Myung Park, with its few American customers and, oddly, Korean ladies were showing up too. No doubt to brush up their Korean! I was one of Sunny’s few customers, leftover as it were. And spoke no Korean. Fortunately, Myung was speaking English like an American born. She was adapting to her new country, so what was it like for her in Korea, I asked.

She replied while she worked, in bits, between hairsetting, shampooing, combing out and taking the money from the customers. No wonder, I thought, Koreans were getting ahead in every way. There was a Mrs. Yang who ran a coffee shop near the library I went to. Her English was understandable, but halting. The coffee shop was not prospering, perhaps because of its location but thinking a little more I knew it had to do with personality. Myung made her customers feel important, her service made us feel better about ourselves. Mrs. Yang’s cooking did not do that. It was poor fare albeit very cheap, and did not lift the spirit. Mrs. Yang probably worked hard, and had long hours too, but she was dissatisfied with her coffee shop. She once remarked - the friend I was with lived on the Westside, near Beverly Hills - enviously, "One day my husband and I live in Los Feliz area. Very expensive." Mrs. Yang was a dreamer; I know, I am one too.

Myung’s replies, given in bits, grew into a full story over time. She had been married before in Korea and the household was made up, beside the couple, with a son and the husband’s mother. There was a brother who was a Catholic priest, who kept in close touch with the family, being devoted to his mother and his brother. Their marriage began to fall apart, and she did not know the reason, except he accused her of causing friction between him and the son, and between him and his mother. Neither one thought of separation or divorce and the marriage crumbled along until one day he demanded she leave the house: He could no longer take the friction she was causing. His mother, who had been like a mother to her, cried and pleaded with him to reconsider, pointing out Myung worked such long hours and was in no position to cause friction between them. His cold answer was, "Do you want to leave with her?" Myung thought quickly, Who would take care of the seven-year-old boy? And left and found help from the Christian church congregation who was interested in the rights of Korean women, of which she had no thoughts about. Korean women were rulers in the home, what more did they want, she wondered even today. She was helped with her divorce and so her husband remarried. There were children by the new wife. Her mother-in-law wrote her infrequently, and for the purpose of informing her about her son. Myung said Korean law gave absolute control to the father over his children in a divorce settlement, whether the mother could see them or not. And he had chosen to refuse. She had not seen her son in eight years. Her next project, now the shop was underway and she found a temporary licensed operator, was to make a trip to Korea. She felt she needed to see the mother-in-law again. At the same time she would beg her former husband to allow her to meet with the son. "Is that too much to ask?" she said. The brother-priest came through Los Angeles just then, and mentioned his mother was not well, she was getting old. Myung told him about seeing her son. He shook his head, "He is no longer your son. But see our mother, she longs to see you." And he was off on Church business.

The trip to Korea was a short one and Myung did not return as if she had had a vacation. She said it was as her brother-in-law priest had said: The mother-in-law was growing old. Also Myung did not meet the new family; she saw her former husband to ask him the favor she had come for and he refused. However, he made a concession. She could see her son from a distance if she obeyed his directions. She agreed. He took her to a restaurant the high school students frequented and seated her, warning her to make no move that would draw the son’s attention or utter a noise that would attract his notice. She agreed again. She could see the entrance and did not taste the food placed in front of her, her eyes anxiously on the door. And knew the son the moment he came through, and almost called out, almost rose to face him, and sat back instead and watched him eat his lunch and talk with his friends and walk out with them. She looked at her former husband, whose face was bland, with no emotion showing, in withdrawal from what was taking place. She got up from the table and said she would see her way out. She was not to see him again.

From there she visited with her mother-in-law for the last time, too. She was going to the hotel and pack her bag and take a flight back to America, she told the old woman. What could she say to the old woman? It was nice knowing you? She took the older woman in her arms and together the two cried, the mother-in-law gasping out, "His wife wants him-my son-to get rid of me. She says I am a burden to her, I no longer help." Desolate words! DesolationEMyung was a simple person and prayed the woman’s Catholic son’s prayer for them both, "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot changeE" and the women parted.

When she got back, she told the customers happily that her husband’s business was so good, he was expanding and he was asking her to become full partners with him. She was selling the beauty shop. Her happiness about the move infected us all, and we cheered even though we were not sure if ever anyone would make us so pretty again. The new owner proved an excellent beauty operator because we continued to look well groomed. And she was also an acquaintance of Myung and kept us informed about her fortunes. So life went along when one day the hairdresser told what Myung had reported to her about the family in Korea. Myung wanted some of us to know, because prayers were said for them.

It was that Myung’s mother-in-law committed suicide. Her son with whom she lived, collapsed on hearing the news and was hospitalized and had not recovered from the blow. He was pronounced mentally ill. Myung’s son was taken in charge by the Catholic priest, the boy’s uncle, and was in a private school. The wife and children were with her parents. How bare these words writing an ending to so many lives involved together.

It is like reading Census Bureau report 2000.


Editor’s note- This column by Korean American writer Ellen Thun is about her experience of growing in Los Angeles before World War II. The story sheds light on a life of first-wave Korean immigrants in the early part of 1900s. Writer Thun was born in Riverside and went to grammar school in Riverside and high school and college in Los Angeles, and worked as a proofreader at the Times-Mirror Press, Los Angeles.