Farewell Saturday for a Mission cobbler who wants to stay

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Nicolas Torres received letter after letter in recent months, asking him to pay the rent. Then, last month, the “ultimatum” arrived. “You pay or quit,” the landlord wrote. Standing in his near-empty shop between the huge shoe-repair machines and a hand truck this week, Torres said he had wanted to stay.

Torres runs Alexander’s Shoe Repair, at 3189 Mission St. near Valencia, named after his son, who was born in 1990, the same year as the shop. Although business has slowed somewhat, Covid-19 hit hard. The rent was the biggest pain.

“When you work by yourself, it’s hard,” said Torres.

For the past 10 days, Torres, now 77, has worked from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. daily, not to repair shoes as he did for the last three decades at Alexander’s, but to clean everything out, preparing for the “quit.”

During the pandemic, the landlord forgave his rent for 15 months, and later cut the rent from $2,700 to $1,600. “Almost 50 percent off,” said Torres. “That’s good.” But it’s still not viable for a “slowed-down” business like his.

Alexander’s monthly revenue usually fell between $2,000 and $3,000. That had to cover all the business costs, such as utilities and materials, and Torres’ mortgage. The cobbler suggested staying and paying the rent “little by little.” But, he says, the landlord declined the offer.

“I broke,” said Torres, referring to the landlord’s refusal. “I had to quit.”

“We have struggled to keep our doors open amidst the uncertainty and challenges of the past years,” read the notice at the storefront drafted by Torres’ daughter in both English and Spanish. The notice explained the closure, and invited their friends and customers to a “community party” this Saturday afternoon.

In Torres’ own words, it’s a “bye-bye party,” waving goodbye with his right palm, fingers stretched apart, a gentle smile on his face.

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“I love my job,” said Torres, “I like to help people.” It had been his passion for more than 30 years, perhaps even longer, since he was a child helping in a shoe-making business, and later learning the shoe-repairing craft in Honduras in the 1950s and ’60s.

Torres was asked to leave the unit empty and clean by April 12. “In that way, sheriff happy,” he said. But for Torres himself, “I can’t sleep sometimes.”

Torres had been tormented by his reluctant decision to quit. “I think about it every day, too much headache, too much, too much things.” He frowned, looked down and pressed on his temple with two fingers.

The shop used to be filled with all sorts of shoes, machines and materials from racks to hangers, shelves to walls. But now, Torres and his family have cleared away almost everything except for 10 heavy machines, emptied racks and shelves, some giant black garbage bags and the hundreds of remaining shoes awaiting their owners.

More than a dozen big paper bags with customers’ shoes were numbered, named and lined up right beside the window. Torres has called the customers one by one. Some picked up; some didn’t. Some might come; some might not. One thing Torres has learned from his decades of business was that people forget about their own shoes.

“You’re not gonna believe me, but I have a shoe from 2018.”

How many forgotten shoes like that does he have?

“Maybe 200 pairs,” Torres said, and chuckled.

Why don’t people want their shoes back?

“They forgot,” Torres said, adding that some have disconnected their phones and some have left the city.

Torres plans to clean the long-forgotten shoes and bring them to a garage sale.

A pair of beautifully embroidered knee-high boots were left on one of the higher empty shelves near the entrance; every person walking in will notice them. “Everybody likes these boots,” said Torres, dusting them off while speaking. But it’s been two months: “She never come.”

The storefront notice, penned by Torres’ daughter also cited his health as a major reason to close the shop.

A Chevrolet sedan making a left turn hit Torres in Richmond on Feb. 4 when he was crossing the street. He immediately lost consciousness. The next moment he could remember was in the ambulance. Torres was hospitalized for a week for his injured forehead, left shoulder and legs.

Torres couldn’t recall being featured by Mission Local just two years ago: “I lost a little bit of my mind” because of the accident, he said.

Knowing he could have filed a lawsuit for more compensation beyond medical costs covered by insurance, Torres chose not to. “I don’t want to do nothing bad,” said Torres, “he was a good, honest guy, because he called the police.”

Two months after the accident, Torres still felt some pain from his injury. Nonetheless, he said he’s “90 percent good.”

Torres has been receiving chemotherapy on liver tumors for almost two years. And he no longer feels the pain in his abdomen. “No pain, no nothing,” he said delightfully, “the chemo helped me.”

Torres felt good. He didn’t want to leave his job.

On Wednesday this week, a real estate agent brought some interested buyers to visit the property as Torres was busy with moving. He was told that the potential new owners may want him to stay.

It might happen quickly, or take months. Or it might not take place at all. Torres has to rely on these “nice people” to bring him a turn for the better. He didn’t want to take a chance, and has continued to diligently clean up to meet his moving-out deadline next week. But he was pleased to talk about the glimpse of hope.

“One hundred percent, I got a chance,” said Torres with a wide grin.

When discussing his store’s potential resurrection, Torres developed a wider, hopeful smile and said that, if it happens, the reopening would be on July 4. “I choose Independence Day,” he said, with his right thumb pointing up, “This is my gift to come back here.”

And if this miracle fails to appear, Torres will take a break and travel. Then he will have to find a job in Mission’s shoe-repair industry. He wasn’t worried about unemployment.

“I’ll find it,” said Torres, “Because everybody knows me, my work.”

An incoming call interrupted the conversation. Torres took out a small, non-smart phone from his chest pocket, unfolded it upwards, pressed a button, and answered.

Over three decades, Alexander’s Shoe Repair moved three times, by blocks and streets, but he has never left the Mission.

“Misión, Misión,” murmured Torres in Spanish, looking out to the streets. “I never figured out why they put it ‘Mission,’” said Torres, “I have to figure it out.”

The “bye-bye party” for Alexander’s Shoe Repair will be held this Saturday, April 8, 1 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. at 3189 Mission St.

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Lingzi is our newest reporting intern. She covered essential workers in New York City during the pandemic and wrote about China’s healthcare and women’s rights back in college. Before coming to America to pursue her dream in journalism, Lingzi taught in the Department of Chinese Studies in National University of Singapore.