Justin’s big fro (September 11, 2013)
During the Korean War, photographer Hatnim Lee’s father left his home in the North for Busan, the second largest city in South Korea. There he met Lee’s mother, whose older sister had fallen in love with an American GI, married, and moved to Northern Virginia. “We got there in 1982 when I was six months old,” says Lee, whose formative years were spent in Fairfax County, just outside of Washington D.C.
The Lee family had always been entrepreneurs, and understood the hard work that went into running a Mom & Pop shop, operating 12-hour days, six days a week throughout the year. Sundays were for church, which played a central role in their lives, keeping them connected to community. “Back in the ‘80, Northern Virginia wasn’t very diverse; there wasn’t even a Korean grocery store,” Lee remembers “We would go to a tiny little church and that’s you congregate, meet other Koreans, get advice, and get shit done.”
Like many immigrants from the Global South, Lee’s parents faced the harsh realities of American life. Neither fluent in English nor educated beyond high school, the Lees rolled up their sleeves and set to work. “They were always running a small business. In Korea they had a chicken restaurant. When they came here, they had two street kiosks in DC. My sister and I spent our summers out there, and on weekends, we would go to a flea market and set up our stand,” says Lee, who frequently acted as translator.
While Lee was in high school in the ‘90s, her father opened a liquor store in Northeast DC. “I wish I had my camera back then because my father would tell me stories,” she says. “They had bulletproof glass and there was a strip club next door so the music would just be vibrating through the wall. I was never really allowed inside. They might have let me but I was too scared at that time. It was a very rough neighborhood and if you are working at a liquor store, you’re going to see all kinds of stuff.”
But soon the Lees were moving on up. They sold the store and opened Harvard Liquors in Columbia Heights, just a couple of blocks from Howard University, the legendary HBCU whose alumni include Thurgood Marshall, Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, and Chadwick Boseman. To call it “a different world” would be fitting. “I grew up in McLean, Virginia, and I think there were five Black people in my school so what we knew was just on the street or in the first liquor store,” Lee says. “When we got to Harvard Liquors, there were so many young, attractive, Black people from Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Texas. They were all beautiful and polite. We got to see a lot of different sides of Black culture.”
With Lee and her sister in college, Harvard Liquors was a family business, with the young women frequently minding the store. “We were always open on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve; everyday except Sundays,” Lee says. “I think my parents only shut the store twice: when my sister and I graduated college. They went for the morning ceremony and then went back to open it.”
Although Lee would have rather been doing something else during those long stretches at the store, she made the best of circumstance by bringing in her camera and staging impromptu portrait sessions with the customers for a series titled Plexiglass. Between 2000 and 2015, Lee photographed her family and regulars going about their daily lives, crafting an intimate portrait of community set amidst the passion and pathos of the liquor store. There are families, couples, homies, and crews passing through, celebrating a special occasion or just out for a good time.
While most customers were more than ready for their close up, some folks refused the offer, not wanting their face out there for reasons unsaid. “They would come in, and had been shot in the leg, and my parents were always like, ‘He didn’t pay his drug bill,'” Lee says. Although there were moments of tension that could spill over into volatile outbursts, the business ran peacefully. With her immaculate maquillage and coiffure, Mrs. Lee was a favorite among the gay customers who loved her sass while Mr. Lee always looked out for unhoused customers, providing them store credit when they were down on their luck. And in their daughter’s photographs that feeling of connection and understanding is fully illuminated.
In 2015, the Lees sold the business and retired, ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor. “A lot of people in this country get addicted to work even though they hate it, and I’m just glad they were able to say, money is important, but we’re okay. We don’t need to keep working like dogs,” says Lee. “When you’ve lived a busy life, you’re probably going to continue to be active because it’s in your psyche. My mom learned harmonica on YouTube and now she teaches it to 20 senior citizens for free. She goes line dancing three times a week, and my dad goes hiking six days a week — every morning, except Sundays.”
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