by Gordon Gray
With our meetings in the yards over, I was going back to Hong Kong on a Saturday morning. The Cathay Pacific flight left Seoul in the morning, getting to Hong Kong around lunchtime. At Seoul Kimpo Airport, I spotted a pharmacy stall in the departures hall. “Do you sell sleeping pills?” I asked the man.
“You want little sleep? You want big sleep?”
“Oh, I want little to middle sleep, maybe?”
“I sell you these small one. You take one for small sleep, two for big sleep.” I paid him a few won, perhaps about a pound, for the box of twelve tablets. I dozed on the flight and got to Hong Kong and checked into the Harbour View Holiday Inn. I had a lunchtime beer and a sandwich at the bar, then at about 2.30 headed for bed and a quiet afternoon. I took two tablets and turned off the light.
When I woke up, I felt great. I was relaxed, knew I had had a great sleep and felt that I could now take on the world again. I stretched, put on the light and looked at the clock. It said 13.45. No, that cannot be right, but the sunlight filtering round the curtains told me it was daytime. But I had not gone to bed until after 1400. How can it still be early afternoon now? Then I realised. It was lunchtime on Sunday. I had slept for almost twenty-four hours! What great pills. I kept them with me after that.
Korea was a regular destination for me with Decca, Racal and occasionally with Plessey; but after I joined Thorn EMI, it became my main focus. I was working for Plessey when, after a hostile takeover, Marconi bought Plessey and we all became Marconi employees. A few months later, I was then lucky enough to be offered an export sales job with Thorn by a friend and former colleague in Plessey, John Hancock. John was one of the world’s ‘Good Guys’ and had been on the Plessey defence team fighting the takeover, so he left fairly soon after the takeover to be the general manager of one of Thorn EMI’s defence divisions, specialising in naval acoustic systems.
Things had been pretty depressing in Marconi. It was the only time in my working life when I questioned seriously why I was bothering to get out of bed in the mornings. We all felt that Marconi treated us all like misbehaving children and no one would or could ever make a decision. Everything had to be referred upwards to head office. If you were not a director, then you were a nothing. Regular overseas travel was virtually stopped unless it was to collect an order, so the incentive to try and cultivate a customer that you knew you were not allowed to go and talk to was diminished. The boss of the sales team even had a section from the company rules on expenses taped to the outside of his office door. This set the tone and attitude for the team. It basically said that no one was allowed to claim for any sort of alcoholic drinks for themselves on expenses. If we ate in our hotels, we had to provide a copy of the waiter’s order sheet along with the hotel receipt, so that the company would know we did not order any alcohol. Basically, they were saying to us, “We don’t trust you but we do trust a teenage trainee waiter we have never seen.” The only time we could have alcohol was if we were entertaining. So when John rang me up with a job offer, I was receptive to it – to put it mildly.
On my first day at Thorn, John handed me a file. “We have just lost a bid for a naval underwater acoustics system in Korea,” he said. “It was pivotal as it would have led directly to at least one and maybe two larger orders. Can you please see if you can work out what went wrong from what is in the file and whether we can get back in there?”
“Well, I will have a look and let you know.” Great! I thought, Day one and I am clearing up someone else’s mess; thanks John, but then I thought of my new salary and the shiny new company car outside and happily sat down to read the correspondence.
The more I read, the more fascinating it became. It soon was apparent that the person handling the prospect had been trying to win an export contract by playing telex ping-pong and asking the customer questions. In almost two years, not one visit had been made to Korea in spite of the agent repeatedly saying that this was what was needed. They had even submitted a bid without even talking to the customer face to face. Promises were made by telex, then not followed up, in fact. By early afternoon, I had read enough. I went in to see John.
“Well?” he said.
“John, someone has tried to win business by playing telex pingpong with the agent and that will never work in Korea. In fact, I am surprised that the agent has not sacked us.”
“I thought so,” said John. “Do you think we could recover the situation for the next project?”
“I don’t know, but I will tell you this. If you do not get someone out there soon to start to mend some fences, you certainly won’t.” I found myself on Thursday’s flight to Seoul.
There was a view held by some senior managers with non sales backgrounds, that anyone with a sales title must have the gift of the gab and should be able to sell fridges to the Eskimos. They should therefore be able to go out and ‘hard sell’ a multi million pound sonar system to a customer over dinner, aided only by a two-page brochure. Of course, it never happens and John understood that well. Defence system selling is never a simple one-hit ‘hard Sell’. It is a soft sell, over many months and years, with many visits in that time as confidence and trust grow.
I arrived in Seoul and started to dig. Meetings with the British Embassy commercial and defence sections, one or two old Plessey contacts and discussions with the agent himself, a Mr J.S. Yu, painted a fairly good picture. Thorn had been using an agent who was, on the face of it, ideally placed to win this type of business. If you are trying to sell a submarine or a ship, you need an agent with contacts at high level as well as a large office staff to assist in bid work. If you are selling a piece of equipment that fits onto a submarine or ship, then you need an agent with the right contacts at a slightly lower level. At my first meeting with Mr Yu, he was guarded, which, after the way he had been treated, was not unexpected. I explained that John and I had reviewed everything and we did not hold Mr Yu or his company responsible for the lost order. It was all our fault as we had not followed up on his requests. Mr Yu relaxed. I think he thought I was coming out to sack him.
“Look, Mr Yu, let’s try and start again and see if we can win the next contract. We will do all we can to ensure that we can win it and will follow your advice.”
This was for a different piece of equipment but was also needed on the same project. It was an expensive piece of acoustic equipment used for testing and calibrating sonars. Thorn made it and it was used by the Royal Navy, and we knew it would meet the needs of the Korean Navy. Our competitor was the French with a similar piece of equipment. Mr Yu’s company should be ideal to help us with this. Mr Yu agreed it was still winnable, but the Korean Navy had not been impressed with Thorn’s performance and we needed to do a lot of work to catch up. We got to work on the strategy that afternoon.
1991 Student demonstrations
When I arrived for a visit a few weeks later, student demonstrations had been going on in other cities in Korea for over a week, sparked by the death of a student, supposedly at the hands of the police. The papers and local TV were full of pictures of masked students hurling bricks and stones, in some cases even firebombs, at the police cordons. Photos of white smoking tear gas canisters rolling along shopping streets and riot police grabbing students and taking them away filled the papers. Tonight, it was Seoul’s turn. The demonstration had been well publicised and there were warnings posted in the hotel lobby area about it. I was staying at the Chosun Hotel in the centre of Seoul, which faces onto the City Square. This was where the demonstration was due to take place, so it would be taking place outside the door.
I had arranged to meet Mr Yu and a customer for dinner that night. I rang him and suggested we meet at another place. “Yes, I agree, I suggest you take early taxi to Hyatt Hotel. We will meet you in lobby area. There will be no trouble there.”
In the Chosun lobby that evening, people were asking the hotel staff if they would be OK to go out. The answer seemed to be “Not sure”. I heard a couple of large Americans saying “To hell wi
th this, let’s get a pizza on room service” and they retreated into the lift. The student demonstration was due to start at about 8 o’clock, so by 7.30 the lobby was almost empty. The coffee shop, just off the lobby, and the cocktail bar nearby were deserted and the few people around seemed a little distracted. Even though it was May it seemed to be a chilly night and as I left the Chosun in a taxi, we passed rows of dark blue police buses parked in the roads that entered the main City Square. The buses had grills over all their windows and were full of riot police in black, padded combat suits and black helmets with visors. I gave a shiver at the thought of getting in the way of one of those guys.
The taxi moved rapidly away from City Square and climbed the hill, up past the Hilton and on to the Hyatt. The world outside seemed to return to normal. The Hyatt is a built on the top of a hill and overlooks a big bend in the River Han and a large part of Seoul city. It is one of the best hotels in Seoul, often used by international VIPs. I paid the taxi and entered the vast lobby. The place was busy and had a relaxed feel about it. A live band was playing in the lobby lounge and smartly-dressed people were standing in groups or sitting on the settees enjoying their cocktails as they looked out through the huge windows over the city lights spread out below. It seemed a world away from the siege atmosphere down in the Chosun. Waiters and waitresses were busy dashing around the groups of business people with trays of drinks. Mr Yu and his colleague, Mr Kim, were waiting to one side of the main doors. Mr Yu is a tall, slim man; much taller than most Koreans. He has the bearing of the naval officer that he once was and is a fine and gentle man. By this time, I had known him for a little while and felt that I was getting to know and like him. His colleague, Mr Kim, was short, stocky and always smiling, which worried me a bit as it was not like Koreans to smile so much.
“Why you not stay here instead of Chosun downtown?” asked Mr Kim. “Here is better hotel and away from trouble. We can get you good rate here.” I could see his point. “I think I will,” I said.
We set off together in another taxi down to a different part of town where Mr Yu knew of a good local restaurant. We stopped outside a restaurant on a busy street. It was, of course, Korean and it was his favourite one. From the outside, it seemed more like a workers’ canteen than a posh eatery as the noise of loud chattering and crashing dishes carried out onto the street. The ground floor was lit by fluorescent lights and was very bright. The place was full and very noisy with Koreans yelling instructions across the sound of dishes and glasses being placed or collected. Mr Yu headed to the left towards a flight of stairs. As he got near the foot of the stairs, a lady stepped out of a door and greeted him with a slight bow. He was obviously an honoured regular. We were taken upstairs where the lady escorting us knelt down on the floor, slid open a thin door and ushered us into a small quiet private room. There already was another of Mr Yu’s team and a gentleman from the navy who we had met earlier. It was gloriously warm. We left our shoes at the door and the warmth of the underfloor heating instantly made my feet feel warm as I slid on the polished pine wood floor and settled down around the low table that filled the middle of the room. While Mr Yu and Mr Kim slipped easily onto the floor, their legs somehow vanishing beneath them, mine would not go where I wanted them to and I could not get comfortable. I never mastered the technique of ‘losing’ your legs in these places and always ended up with sore knees and a twisted back. Mr Yu issued a string of orders to the lady, and very soon, beer arrived. She then brought in a heavy black stone bucket of glowing hot coals and it was placed in a hole in the middle of the table, and a big 3-foot wide griddle placed on top of it.
Then, as we chatted and drank the ‘OB’ beer, the waitress arrived and crawled into the room on her knees pushing a tray of small dishes in front of her. These had radish salad, rice, a bowl of sliced garlic, small bowls of a whitish soup and, of course, the ubiquitous “kimchi”. She slid silently backwards out of the door. Then she reappeared with a big plate of marinated, shredded beef, which she proceeded to further shred with a pair of kitchen scissors. We were then left to ourselves to divide out a few pieces of beef with our chopsticks and cook the beef, garlic and vegetables on the griddle, which by now was getting very hot. As more beef sizzled and the beer flowed, the smells of soy sauce, garlic and chilli rose from the griddle. The temperature rose, jackets were removed and a general feeling of warm camaraderie began to envelope the room. The Koreans have a fantastic work ethic and life is very serious during working hours. However, after work finishes, they also have a very strong ‘let’s enjoy life’ ethic too.
A bottle of Soju was called for. This is a Korean spirit, a clear drink that is drunk neat. So, the events going on in the City Square fell into the backs of our minds. The beer and the Soju seemed to help my knees too as I was soon feeling more comfortable. The Koreans have a custom at these dinners that when one of the guests or hosts, it does not seem to matter, notices that someone else’s glass is empty, they finish their own glass and pass it to the other person with both hands. He then takes it with both hands and the first person fills it for him from the bottle. Someone else will then do the same to the one who started as they have now lost their glass. And so it goes on! As the evening continues, you will undoubtedly have drunk out of everyone else’s glass!
Eventually, plates of fruit, mainly apple and Japanese pear – beautiful juicy things – were passed in. However, with the fruit came a warning from the manageress that students and police were in a nearby street. Mr Yu decided we should leave right away, so we left and headed out into the chill night. We walked briskly for a few streets, then turned into a narrow alley. After a few yards, Mr Yu knocked on a plain door in a dark, old, single-storey building. It was opened by a Korean lady who invited us inside. My mind was now a little clearer after the walk and I was wondering what sort of place this was. It was dark inside, lighting was at a minimum, but it was warm and I could see it had a low ceiling. I ducked my head and followed Mr Yu’s back as he led us into a booth at the back of the room. The five of us nestled into the cosy booth. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw that there were three or four other booths, all with three or four guys sitting in them talking quietly and drinking beer or spirits. The only light was from heavily shaded lamps hanging low over the tables. There were a few small paraffin heaters on the floor. The booth seats were comfortable and well cushioned and the table was a normal height, so I enjoyed stretching my legs out. Soon the beer arrived and then a plate of sliced apples. It was not long before a tall and smiling Korean girl joined us. She was called Anna and was there to act as our hostess in the best sense. She made sure we had beer and got more fruit when needed. She, of course, joined in the Korean chit-chat and banter, but her presence lightened the monastic atmosphere of 5 guys in business suits.
I was suddenly aware that there was a low humming mumble coming from Mr Yu’s side of the table. Mr Yu had started singing. He sang a song called ‘Arirang’–a traditional Korean folk song. Mr Kim whispered to me that Mr Yu always sang Arirang. Mr Kim had a go with another well known Korean song, but regrettably one unknown to me. He actually had a very good voice and sang well. Then it was my turn and ‘Flower of Scotland’ got an airing. As I finished the second verse, I caught a whiff of sharp acrid fumes. Mr Kim caught it too.
“Tear Gas,” said Mr Kim. “We must go.”
Mr Yu quickly paid the ladies and with hankerchiefs over our faces, he led us out into the alley. We turned right away from the main street and quickly headed further down the alley. We emerged into a brightly lit shopping street where we gathered together and decided enough was enough for one night. We all shook hands and went our separate ways.
I took a taxi back to the Chosun. We had not gone far though before we came across the police barriers and their buses. Bricks and stones littered the street and the driver slowly weaved his way through the rubble-strewn streets. Riot police stopped us at a checkpoint and peered inside. The driver shouted something to them and we were w
aved through. I assumed he was saying “A drunken westerner for the Chosun.” We drove on. I had no idea where we were and just hoped that City Square was still open. The big blue buses seemed to be everywhere. Some were empty, some had riot police sitting inside. The police waved us off the main road and the driver went round some back streets until suddenly I realised that we were near City Square. Looking down a cross street, I had a quick glimpse of running students with scarves across their faces and white tear gas hung in the air. More buses were parked here and bricks, rubble, broken bottles and general debris lay across the road. The taxi had to weave its way through the debris which got worse the nearer we got to City Square. Finally the taxi pulled up in front of the Chosun. I paid the driver and added a decent tip as there was no way I could have got back otherwise. A slight mist of tear gas lay across the Square as I hurried inside to safety. “Oh well, if you can’t take a joke,” I said to myself.
The next day, I moved up to the Hyatt and always stayed there after that. Perched high up on the hill just below the Namsam Park, the Hyatt overlooks all of southern Seoul as it spreads up the wide valley of the Han Gang River. In winter, when the long, cold, dry weather gripped Korea, the Hyatt’s gardens were turned into an ice rink and all plants everywhere were wrapped in sacking and straw. The sun, slowly rising into the clear skies above the hills, beyond bends in the Han River, heralded another day’s work in Korea. Below my window, one of the largest cities in the world came to life and threads of smoke began to rise from the houses clustered round nearby Itaewon shopping area. Far below and across the valley, down near the river, where the sun had not yet reached, the fluorescent lights of shops and offices slowly flickered on while the lights of thousands of cars, buses and commuter trains streamed to work in the city across the many road and rail bridges over the river.