Glenna Stearman Park, 1995
So long, Texas!
Early September when school started for my 15th year of teaching, Joel walked into the house and handed me an envelope. Inside was a letter of termination from his boss. At the same time, Joel had been invited to work in a government lab in South Korea for a program that brought scientists from around the world to work for labs and universities for two year contracts. It was called the Brain Pool project. Joel had asked his boss for a leave of absence from his 17-year employment, planning to return after the Korea experience. His job at Southwest Research Institute was fully funded, but the institute was laying people off. Joel was rather shocked that his plan triggered a complete break.
I, on the other hand, danced with JOY as I jumped up onto the dining room table top. I could see a wine bottle on top of the refrigerator, retrieved it and celebrated. Joel was stunned speechless as I danced! I had been teaching and active in the arts, and was going back into my same old job after a wonderful sabbatical and travel. I hated to return to the same job as I had become deeply involved in my own art making and traveling from the east coast to the west coast. Going back to Texas seemed like punishment and I cried on the plane. Our three boys were settled with their families in New England and our youngest had graduated and was working in LA.
Joel was concerned about his research, and told me that he still had $100,000 on his government research grant that was awarded directly to him, in his name, but linked to the institute. We talked while I danced for change. He and I decided that he had to go right back in the next day and tell his boss that he was not finished with the research project, so he needed to keep his lab, his computer, a telephone, a desk and secretarial help. Startled, his boss reminded Joel that he had been fired. Joel said yes, he knew, but it would hurt the Institute’s reputation to send back government money as an unfinished project. In addition, his lab was a new, a million dollar facility, and Joel was the only scientist working in it. That would also represent a failure in planning and expenditures.
Basic benefits of a job, such as medical insurance, sick leave, etc. had to go, but the boss agreed to let Joel move his office to the lab, because a recent serious fire had caused several people to move around and give up space for the scientists who had no offices left. Joel was satisfied with the arrangement and managed to continue his work while I celebrated getting to quit teaching and leave Texas. We both worked in place until May, and we worked madly on the house, buying a new everything to put the house on the market. We packed in storage, rented a truck to drive stuff to our sons in New England, and arranged for our youngest son to finish clearing furnishings and have a friend move in so the house would not be empty. Rent free, the friends just had to live there and let relators show the house.
TAEJON, REPUBLIC OF KOREA (also known as science town)
Joel and I were allowed to ship about 20 boxes of supplies to Korea. Winter coats take up a lot of space. One box each of clothing. Then I packed a box of miniature art works from artist friends so we would feel at home. I also packed two sets of colorful sheets and fabrics to hang on the walls. Still another big box of books. I wanted to have reading material while in the early stage of adjusting to a new country. Then, I packed art supplies, some of Joel’s books and extra shoes.
We landed in Seoul, Korea after a very long flight from L.A. It was my birthday so I spent the money to up-grade our tickets to Business Class. A two hour drive to Taejon, the science capitol of Korea, took us to a fully furnished, air-conditioned apartment. The western style bed was made, breakfast was in the refrigerator, and we were warned not to drink water from the sink faucets. We were instructed that water for food prep and drinking was in a special container, and that we had to refill the jug from the “safe” water outside at the neighborhood well. Everyone in the town had to use water from special safe water wells in each neighborhood.
Joel went right into work. His specialty was in measuring gas flow in pipelines, and in 1995, Korea was planning to build a gas pipeline going from Russia to North Korea and down into South Korea. I unpacked and arranged the boxed items for a few days and started reading my first book. I also learned how to take a bus in Taejon.
However, Joel’s supervisor suggested that we might like to buy a car. Joel said, “No” rather emphatically and I said, “Yes, most definitely!” We bought a five-year old sedan within two days. I had an international driver’s license, although American licenses were recognized. I am sure it is because so many American military were there. I could not read or understand Korean, but every Korean had to study English every year of school.
The real difficulty was that no streets had names and building numbers did not have a recognizable order. Numbers on buildings referred to the filing system for building permits, not for the logic of sequence or location. That was the real mind-blowing detail I never understood. I drew a map of our area and made up street names—like Riverside for the major road along the river. Money was not easy either. They did not have credit cards yet, and no one wrote checks. Everything was cash—and the largest bill was the 10 won bill (equal to $10). People literally carried bags of cash.
Driving was nuts. Lanes were only suggestions and Koreans made three lanes when two were clearly marked. I discovered that drivers who were in a hurry would take to the sidewalks and honk if you were in the way. I was stunned the first time I was honked at and nearly run down for walking on the sidewalk ahead of an angry, frustrated driver. Driving and walking were too stressful to continue on some days. If I drove out of my apartment complex and met with more than one near miss, I turned around the corner, went back to my apartment and crawled back into bed under covers, until I felt calm. I finally realized that I was living in a culture where the population went from walking, to ox carts, to cars in a very short period of time. I was just thankful that the main line painted on the street did separate the direction. Of course, a single lane street belonged to the best player of “Chicken”—I learned to drive in reverse very well, as the shop keepers pulled their merchandise closer into their shops.
I learned to love several things about Taejon. The Buddhist Temple outside of town was a
truly beautiful and peaceful hike up a wide mountain path, where the fresh air was perfect and the architecture was stunningly mirroring the landscape. I thought about Frank Lloyd Wright’s artistic relationship to the flat ground in his prairie style homes and altered vision when he
worked around water elements and rocky ridges. The Koreans lined up roof top angles with the particular slope of the mountains and built walls that revealed an awareness of a 200 hundred year old tree. The monks were quiet. The woods were silent. One was fully refreshed after a weekend temple visit. Joel had a similar quick, daily walk up a shorter slope at noon after lunch. The scientists climbed to a peaceful site that overlooked the research institute’s buildings and grounds.
Coffee houses and tearooms were very popular. I loved the tea rooms because of the same peaceful atmosphere, beautifully crafted wood interiors, and especially one that had a bird aver-airy. Coffee houses were more for young people and boom boxes.
While in Taejon I was asked to meet with a group of young college students. They said they wanted to learn American slang. I own a couple of slang dictionaries, because I was assigned a lot of Japanese, Korean, and Mexican students in the private boarding school where I taught in San Antonio, Texas. These students were knocked over when I explained “jugs, watermelons, cantaloupes, apples. oranges, fried eggs and boobs” as a few of the slang for women’s breasts. They, on the other hand, did not have a long tradition of slang for breasts, which I assumed was because the traditional female dress dropped straight to the ground from the bust line, hiding the female figure. T-shirts and jeans were post Korean war. Anyway, I was always prepared for hysterical laughing during that lesson. The Korean girls were always funny when they talked about the males’ “chili peppers.”
Most of my students were 18 to 20 years old and less sophisticated than teenagers in Seoul. College males and females that age might meet in coffee shops but most did not date. Dating was considered as almost a proposal of marriages.
While there, I also had high school students and we had many conversations contrasting high school life. For example, Korean classes went from Monday through noon on Saturday. 
Students could be sent to evening study hall until 11:00 at night if they did not do all their homework. If one was sent to evening study hall, a student went without dinner unless his parent delivered a plate of food from home. I often saw students walking home between 11:30 and midnight. School started at 8:00 the next morning. I asked what the school dances were like, and the students laughed out loud and couldn’t believe that US teenager had any social life at school. The real pressure for high school students is to constantly study for the national high school exam. A student’s test score determines what college one may attend or even if they can go to college. On test day, the entire country tiptoes! No auto horns or business noise is allowed. Some factories or businesses close for the day. Nothing is allowed to move except the students and parents taking them to school. Generally, I found Korean students to be very well educated and seriously motivated to test well.
My naivety was also wildly hilarious. From the first days in our apartment, I became aware of a truly beautiful voice floating up our hallway to the 3rd floor. It was between a song or a poem, perhaps a chant, repeated every day or two or three. I always stopped to listen. Soon I felt like it must be a prayer of some sort—probably Buddhist. That voice was my first friend and I heard him for the full two years. The singer did not come on weekends so Joel never heard him.
The day we were moving out to return to the USA, my best Korean friend came to help. On time, that morning, my Buddhist monk, singing his prayer for me, arrived. When I explained his constant presence in my life, my friend fell into a chair as she doubled over giggling. I wanted to know how she could laugh at such a beautiful voice, and she managed to calm down enough to explain that he was calling out for laundry and dry cleaning. I was absolutely stunned by the translation but managed to see the humor. Many Koreans seemed to be very talented singers!
On my flight home I decided that living abroad a few months or years was a valuable experience. We were moving to Memphis, another country in language and culture.
