Originally published Saturday, December 27, 1997

By JON HAHN  
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

Simon Tajer pats the flamingo-pink fender of the '62 Cadillac Fleetwood and says: "This is our 'Project Car,' what we work on in our own time, evenings and weekends. The joy of working on such a car comes finally, when it is done, and it is a beautiful thing."

The big hunk of vintage Detroit iron with the discount repaint job and the Flash Gordon tail fins takes up more than its share of room at the back of the almost-hospital-clean workshop on Northwest Gilman Boulevard in Issaquah. Simon, wearing white overalls, and his cousin, Ali Emami, in blue, look rather like scientists prepping a space-shot satellite in one of those dust-free work areas at Cape Canaveral.

"You stand back and look at it, when it is done," Simon continued. "You drive it around and other people look at it and smile. It is something we do for any car. Call it maybe loving attention, but when it's done, and you wash it and it is gleaming, like what my cousin is doing to that Beemer over there, then you say:

"'Look at it! Isn't it beautiful?!'"

This ain't day surgery for cars. TAJ Collision Center is intensive care for expensive cars, like the black BMW sedan on which Ali is slowly, methodically buffing small areas. And it wasn't even in an accident, which is the reason most vehicles come here.

"We give a lifetime guarantee on all our work," Simon said. "And on that one, the Glo-Coat seemed to fade a bit, you know? Well, for whatever reason, we took it back and we are doing it all over again. Several hundred dollars' worth of work, but you do that for your customers."

Simon has that BMW understated class about him, college educated in business, fluent in several languages, comfortable with parts-delivery drivers as well as celebrity customers. Ken Griffey Jr. and Jay Buehner have driven away as happy customers, according to Simon.

The rolling wounded that limp in, or are towed in, aren't all Beemers and Jags and Land Rovers. But neither is this a bump-and-grind shop or a custom work shop. The TAJ shop primarily does insurance-covered collision repair on cars not more than 10 years old.

"That's about the break-even point at which an insurance company would rather 'total' a car, if the repair costs are more than 60 percent of the car's street value," Simon explained. "But once in a while, when a customer really likes an older car and wants to keep it . . . like the customer whose old Toyota needed a complete rear end. And I mean the whole rear end, at about $8,500."

What rolls out the door is a "factory-quality" or better vehicle, Simon said matter-of-factly. "No after-market parts. No rebuilt parts. So sometimes a job takes a little longer because of difficulty finding parts, like on cars that have special editions."

Customers, especially those who think their cars have just minor dents, don't always understand why repairs might take several days, he explained. "Many places simply do the basic body work, fill in with Bondo and then paint.

"We first fix the body and frame, then we do a special primer coat, then Bondo, then there are separate applications of sealer, primer, base coat and finish coat. It all takes time and a lot of hand work."

The TAJ shop takes its name from the family Tajer. Simon's father, Manouchehr who used to own a Tehran luxury car dealership in their native Iran, still keeps his hand in the business, showing up several days each week to help out.

The real auto artist here is Mosen Shoshahi, the brother-in-law Simon usually calls "my brother." This is close-knit family, and "Mo," as he is usually called, also employs his own father, Ghasem, as a technician.

Although they all know most ends of the business, Mo is the hands-on expert in auto body restoration. "I was 11 years old when I first started," he said. "Not just occasional going to the shop. Full-time, five days a week and then school at night." The dealership where he worked was the same owned by Simon's father.

Simon was the first family member to leave the country, he said, after political turmoil in Iran resulted in religious fundamentalists cracking down on, if not outright taking over, not only the government but also schools, businesses and other institutions. "Like many, we left for what you could say were political reasons," Simon said.

Because he had difficulty with the way the new regime ran the schools, Simon left Tehran to finish his secondary schooling and then earn a business degree in Canada. Other members of the family went off in other directions, coming to Seattle by rather circuitous routes. Mo and his Suzan, who runs her own nail and skin salon in Bellevue, came here about eight years ago. It wasn't long before Mo decided that the busy East Side was the place to set up his own auto body shop. "And my sister lured me down here, saying that they needed someone with my business background," Simon said.

At 38, Mo concedes this is not the work he'd recommend for a son, if he had one (Mo and Suzan have a daughter). "No way! It's very hard, physical work. It takes strength . . . and bending. I already have problems with bad knees," he said.

Off to the side, Simon volunteers: "He doesn't say much, but my brother is the best in the industry."

When he says that -- how he says that -- you know he's not just filling holes in the air with verbal Bondo.

Jon Hahn is a staff columnist who writes three times a week in the P-I.