by Joe Field
“Congratulations, by the way,” said Jesse.
“For what?”
“For marrying up! Soojin seems great.”
“Thanks. She is.”
“Is she still practicing karate? I heard she can break thick pine boards like they are twigs.”
“Yes, and she could break a guy’s neck just as easily. I never thought I would marry someone who would fare better in a street fight than me.”
“That’s awesome. Say, Grace mentioned it the other day while I was distracted watching the Twins play, but when is the wedding again?”
“The first day of September, during Labor Day weekend. We figured the only way to get all of you to come to the cities would be to have our wedding take place on the heels of the Minnesota State Fair. And, of course, the Twins and the Vikings were playing in town.”
“That was a good call. Count Grace and I in for sure,” said Jesse, catching the football. “Well, at least for the ice-cold milk at the fair, and a corndog at Target Field.”
“So, what have you been busy with up in Beltrami County these days? Anything you can share with a junior radio reporter trying to make a break in the big city?” I winked.
“Well, I can’t go into specifics, but we have a real drug problem up there. It’s getting out of control.” Jesse tucked the ball under his arm and walked over to me.
“Really? What kind of drugs?”
“Mostly heroin and synthetic drugs like OxyContin.”
“That’s interesting.”
“About three months ago, some big-time drug dealer came up from Minneapolis to the Red Lake Indian Reservation. He gunned down the local competition and started selling heroin. The users of the drug are calling it Brown Sugar. These addicts can’t get enough of the stuff. Lab tests have proved it to be some of the purest heroin on the market right now.”
“Sounds like something out of Breaking Bad. Were you able to arrest the dealer?”
“Unfortunately, no. This dealer then went over to the White Earth Indian Reservation and shot up the local competition near Mahnomen the following day. The DEA is involved, and they are working with law enforcement offices across the state.”
“Are you and Grace going to be safe up there with all of this activity?”
“Yeah, all of Grace’s family is still in Bemidji, and we feel safe. For now.”
“That’s good. I hope you guys stay safe.” I paused, then added, “This sounds like it could be a story.”
Jesse looked dubious, so before he could object, I added, “I haven’t produced a big story yet at MPR. They have something called the ‘Last-In-First-Out’ policy. This means the last people hired are usually the first to go if they need to lay people off. There are rumors circulating at work about possible cuts – that is, unless you produce big enough stories to make that policy worthless. Is it okay with you if I do some more research on this drug network and see if I can turn it into my first noteworthy story?”
“Sure. But as you just pointed out, these guys are dangerous. You’ll need to watch your back and let me or your brothers know if you are in trouble,” said Jesse.
“Nothing to worry about, Jesse. You guys might all think you are indestructible with your badges and guns – but really I am the invincible one with my reporter credentials and voice recorder.” I smiled. “Say, I think I see Soojin motioning for me to save her from Grandma Cece. Let’s catch up later on this – I may pay you a visit up there at some point if this story gets legs.”
“Sounds good – just don’t go trying any of that Brown Sugar. They say if you try it even once, you’ll never be able to stop.”
***
I scampered over to rescue my future bride just as she flashed facial expressions that suggested Grandma Cece had overstepped some boundaries. Soojin Kim was the only child of Korean immigrants from Seoul who moved to Minnesota a year before Soojin’s birth. Her father landed an engineering job with 3M, and they resettled in the Twin Cities suburb of Woodbury. Soojin’s childhood was marred by the death of her mother when she was only seven years old. When she turned to her father, he focused her energies on martial arts. She ended up winning the USA Junior Taekwondo Championship three years in a row from 2004 to 2006.
Not only was she tough as nails, but Soojin had a beauty and charm that drew people to her. This worked wonders in her political work. She was a rising star in Minnesota’s DFL, and was currently working on the media team for Governor Knutson. She had helped Knutson get elected in a tight race back in 2010. People often remarked that it wouldn’t be long before she would be running for office.
Soojin and I had bonded over liberal politics in the midst of our conservative families. We met when we were both volunteering at a DFL political fundraising event last year, and I was lucky enough to work the same registration booth as her. I tried to play it cool, but the butterflies in my stomach made me tongue-tied for most of the night. I finally asked her out as we were packing up, and she agreed. Thirteen months later, she was at her first Smith family reunion, and our wedding was in two short months.
As I drew closer, I heard Grandma Cece saying, “I know you work for Knutson, but I’m definitely voting for Nelson in November. You know he is pro-life and against gay marriage. He is the type of leader our state needs right now.”
“Okay, Grandma, I see you’ve met my fiancée, Soojin,” I said, butting in. “No need to lecture her on your Republican ways.”
“Don’t worry, Cece – regardless of who you vote for, we will continue to fight for you and the people of this state,” said Soojin.
“That’s if Knutson wins,” Grandma continued. “I remember back in the glory years when President Reagan ran this country right. We were a shining city upon a hill back then. He was a real leader, and that Nelson reminds me of him.”
Hoping to sideline the conversation, I interjected, “You’re coming to our wedding, right?”
Cece started to smile. “I’ll be there, my dear, don’t worry,” she said, patting Soojin’s hand. “I was just trying to give you a hard time to see if you are cut out to be a Smith!”
I gave Soojin a playful hug, and she pushed on a pressure point in the small of my back as I said, “Thanks, Grandma; let me introduce Soojin to the rest of the family now.”
Once we were out of earshot, I said, “You’ve never used that pressure point on me before. I think the whole left side of my body just went numb. How many pressure points do you actually know?”
“Leave me alone with Grandma Cece again and you’ll find out.” She smiled.
***
I proceeded to drag her from one circle of family members to the next, spinning the same story about how we met, when and where we were going to be getting married, and on and on.
After I finished the introductions, I brought her over to the rock cliffs overlooking the river where my immediate family was sitting. We watched the brave young Smiths jump down to the water below. My parents were sitting in the shade under an oak tree. All four of my siblings sat next to them – my two older brothers, Joseph Junior and Thomas, and my two younger siblings, Travis and Jill. As the middle three children, Thomas, Travis and I all knew Junior and Jill received most of our parents’ attention growing up. Junior was the first-born, and Jill was Mommy’s Little Princess.
Soojin and I plopped down next to them on the warm green grass, and they greeted us warmly. That is, they made a big fuss about Soojin and barely noticed me.
“Hey, Coop, thanks for finally bringing Soojin up again to hang with us,” said Tommy. “We thought you were hiding her from us down in the cities!”
“I’m only hiding her until after the wedding. That way she won’t get cold feet and run the other way.” I smiled.
“How is your work with the Governor going?” asked my mother.
“It’s going really well, thanks,” Soojin said. “We are busy trying to push some new legislation through the House and Senate that will increase the salaries for teachers throughout the stat
e. It’s a bill you may be interested in, given your long career as a teacher.”
“Too bad I’m not teaching now!” Mom frowned. “I suppose you will have to raise our taxes to pay for this. I was watching Fox News the other night, and there was this special about how the Democrats are just squeezing out the middle class with new taxes—”
“Okay, Mom. Let’s not have a political debate during our family reunion, especially if you are going to preach Fox News propaganda to us. We already heard an earful from Grandma Cece. Dad, how is retirement life going these days?” I asked quickly changing the subject.
“Not too bad. There is always something to do. In fact, I’m busier now than while I was on the force! Speaking of, when do you plan to quit your radio gig to take up the family business?”
“It seems the rest of you have law enforcement pretty much covered. I’ll just keep reporting the news.”
Dad had retired after thirty hard years at the Duluth Police Department. He was a well-respected officer, and the only thing his men ever gave him a hard time about was his name, Joseph Smith. He was a devout Catholic, yet his men always teased him about the Book of Mormon, Brigham Young, and the state of Utah.
Junior was a Minnesota state trooper stationed in Duluth. Tommy worked for the Border Patrol up in Thunder Bay. Travis was a police officer in Superior. Since Travis defected to Wisconsin, he was the easiest target to pick on. Even Jill was in a Criminology Master’s program at UMD.
My mother wasn’t in the family business. She was a retired elementary school teacher, and a darn good one from what I heard. Then there was me, the outlier of the family. At least I didn’t have to put on the same rigid uniform every day or have to worry about getting shot at. But, belonging to a law enforcement family did have its advantages, especially for a reporter. If I needed a name or license plate traced I had several brothers to choose from. I also had a wealth of potential story material.
“Have any of you guys heard about this popular new drug on the market called Brown Sugar?” I asked.
Junior and Tommy shook their heads. Travis asked, “Is that what they’re calling all this new heroin in region?”
“Yes. You’ve heard of it?”
“Well, some of the guys down at the station were talking about it the other day,” said Travis. “I guess they have busted a few addicts who had the product on them. Sounds like it comes from within Minnesota somewhere. Why do you ask?”
“Wow, look at Wisconsin coming through,” I said. “How do you feel about that Minnesota?” I asked my two older brothers. Returning my attention to Travis, I added, “I heard about it earlier and was just curious.”
“You cooking up a story?” asked Jill.
“I don’t know yet, but I think I might know someone who could enlighten me.”
“Who is that?” asked Soojin.
“I have an old friend I’d like to talk to up in Hibbing.” I turned to Soojin. “What do you think about doing the Mesabi Bike Trail tomorrow? We can make Hibbing our half-way point.”
“Works for me, although you might have a tough time keeping up!” Soojin was tying her hair back in a ponytail. “Now, who is ready for the Smith family decision?” she asked, just before she catapulted herself over the rock cliffs toward the water below.
I looked over to my family, whose eyes were wide. “She’s a keeper,” my dad said.
Chapter 3
Hibbing, MN
I had christened my bright blue, two-door Jeep Wrangler Wellstone. It was named after Paul Wellstone, the late Democratic senator from Minnesota. It was an impulse buy following my hire with MPR, and as long as I had a steady paycheck, Wellstone would stay in my garage. As Soojin and I drove on Highway 53 north out of Duluth, she helped me brainstorm ideas for next year’s family reunion, following my selection in the Smith family decision.
When we reached the Minnesota Discovery Center in Chisholm, we parked Wellstone and picked up the Mesabi Bike Trail heading southwest toward Hibbing.
“Do you remember our first date?” I asked.
“How could I forget?” Soojin pedaled her black mountain bike past me on my left. After a few hundred yards she slowed so we could talk. “It was the first time a guy actually took me on a date outdoors. Every other guy I dated tried the same lame tactic. They would take me out for drinks and try to get me to come back to their place with some cheesy line. No class whatsoever. Plus, your epic fall into Lake Calhoun was pretty memorable.”
After Soojin agreed to the first date, I had sent a small canoe paddle to her office with a note that said, “Balance will be the key to our first date. Without it, you might go home cold and wet. Meet you at Lake Calhoun an hour before sunset.” She showed up wearing a blue “Vote for Knutson 2010” t-shirt worn thin, Nike running shorts, and sandals. I rented two standup paddle boards for a sunset paddle around Calhoun. It was our first time trying the boards, and Soojin quickly demonstrated her superior balance skills. I was not so fortunate.
“Calhoun was a bit chilly that night,” I laughed. “The cold water was worth the fall, though, because you agreed to a second date.”
“I’ll give you that. Dates two, three, and four were quite memorable as well. Canoeing down the Mississippi River, hiking Minnehaha Falls, and biking around Hyland Lake Park.” Soojin looked reflective. “I’m just glad I found someone who loves to actually do stuff as much as me.”
“Hey, sorry about all that political talk at the family reunion yesterday,” I said. “I know it was a long day, but you were a great sport about it.”
“Yes, well I’m just glad Grandma Cece approved. Not sure about all the Fox News chatter, though.” She winked.
“Tell me about it. I’m like a donkey lost in a jungle full of elephants.”
“I can manage the Smith family reunion once a year as long as you can put up with my dad.”
“Your dad does scare me a bit,” I admitted. “I feel like he has never approved of me for his special daughter.”
Soojin waved her hand dismissively. “That’s just his way. If it was up to him, I would marry some stuffy business tycoon or high-powered attorney. No thanks.”
“I sure am glad you picked me,” I said. “I think we will have a fun life together even if I never break six figures on my salary.”
“I’ll take experiences over things any day of the week,” she replied.
“Amen to that.”
***
As we neared Hibbing, Soojin broke off from me to go to a nearby Caribou Coffee for a drink. When I finished with my interview, we would meet back up for lunch.
My first potential source for the story was Ricky Johnson, an old fraternity friend. He was a repeat drug offender who had been in and out of jails and rehab centers since college. Last night I had checked on Ricky’s Facebook page and seen that he was working at the Sammy’s Pizza in downtown Hibbing. He had a recent post about getting stuck working the whole Fourth of July weekend. He wrote that any friend who stopped by would get a free slice of pizza. I wasn’t going to pass up that offer. It could be my appetizer until Soojin came for lunch.
It had been a while since I had visited Hibbing, home to such legends as Bob Dylan, Roger Maris, and Kevin McHale. I turned onto Howard Street and parked my mountain bike right in front of Sammy’s Pizza. I grew up on Sammy’s Pizza on First Street and First Avenue in downtown Duluth, and it contributed to my freshman fifteen. The original restaurant in Hibbing had an unbeatable lunch buffet well worth the trip. The large sign posted on the restaurant wall said Lunch Buffet 11am – 2pm. It was only 10:15 am, but I hoped to catch Ricky on his way into work. I assumed the workers would park and enter in the back of the building, so I left my bike and walked around to the back alley. There were no cars in the back lot, so I killed time playing Monument Valley on my iPhone while I waited.
At exactly 10:30, a rusty old white four-door Ford Taurus pulled up at the back door. I had to do a double take. Ricky looked like he had aged a good ten or fifteen years since I
last saw him three years ago. Once the skinny man in our college fraternity, all that delicious Sammy’s pizza had turned him into what can best be described as Zach Galifianaki’s character, “Alan”, in The Hangover movie series. Ricky even had Alan’s shaggy brown hair and full beard. I assumed Sammy’s work regulations required Ricky to wear both a hair and beard net to make sure no stray hair got mixed in with the cheese. He had huge dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his skin was pale.
I ran up to him just as he reached for the door. “Ricky, how are you, old friend?”
Ricky spun around and looked puzzled. Then his demeanor changed, and he approached me for one of his infamous bear hugs. Funny, just like Alan from the Hangover movie again.
“Brother Coop! Can it be? Cooper the old party pooper!”
“That one never gets old. It’s good to see you. You look like you’ve aged two decades since I last saw you. What gives?”
“Hey brother, tell me about it,” Ricky said, slapping me on the shoulder.
Ricky used the word brother loosely with everyone he talked to.
“Hey, do you think we could chat for a few minutes before your shift starts?”
“Sure, brother, but I have to get in there soon to start warming up the ovens. But we can chat while I have a quick smoke.”
Ricky grabbed a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his front breast pocket, fished a lighter out, and lit one up.
“You want one?”
“No, I’m good. So, how have you been?”
“Well, you know how it is. It’s been a series of highs and lows, but mostly lows lately. I’m still on parole for getting caught with drugs again this past year. I got out of jail a few months ago and picked up this gig as a master pizza chef on a recommendation from my parole officer.”
