The Chaebol Returns To The Presidency 1967 [EN]: Chapter 16

16. Undercover

Several days later.

The President frowned at the commoner’s clothes the Chief of Security presented.

“This is a new suit, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s an ordinary cotton suit bought from Namdaemun [a large traditional market in Seoul].”

The President’s clothes were always custom-made from the finest fabrics.

“True, but if I wear this around, won’t people recognize me immediately?”

“Still, I thought you should wear something clean for hygiene reasons.”

Then, the President looked around, picked up a pair of stationery scissors, and started cutting holes in the suit.

The Chief of Security was at a loss, unsure how to react to the President’s sudden action.

“Y-Your Excellency!”

“A manual laborer shouldn’t dress like a corporate employee.”

This time, he threw the suit on the floor and stomped on it.

Then, he ruffled his neatly styled hair with his hands.

He dipped his finger in fountain pen ink and smeared it on his face and hands like lotion.

The President, now wearing the torn clothes, stood with his legs apart and asked.

“How is it? Do I look like a manual laborer?”

The Chief of Security barely suppressed his laughter and replied.

“If you mess yourself up a bit more and carry a tin can, you’d be indistinguishable from a beggar.”

“Hahaha, the disguise is good. Disguise the bodyguards as my colleagues as well.”

“Y-Yes, Your Excellency!”

* * *

Ding, ding, ding!

The streetcar slowly ran on the tracks above ground.

Boys with chestnut-shaped buzz cuts and girls with bobbed hair wearing skirts ran dangerously alongside the streetcar, their hair fluttering.

As the streetcar stopped on Jongno [a major street in Seoul], lined with the Gukil Theater, Chinese restaurants, shoe stores, tailor shops, and bakeries, the President dressed as a laborer and two bodyguards in faded military uniforms and Jongno-style fedoras got off.

The bodyguards were highly skilled martial artists from the Special Forces, with pistols and emergency radios hidden in their inside pockets.

The President looked around and took a deep breath.

“Ah, now this feels like living.”

“Your Excellency, where shall we go?”

“Hey, what’s with the ‘Your Excellency’? You should call me ‘hyung’ [an honorific term used by younger males to address older males].”

“Pardon?”

“It’s not an undercover trip if my identity is exposed.”

“Ah, I understand, Your, I mean, hyung, hyung-nim [a more respectful form of ‘hyung’].”

“Today, we’re doing the four main gates. We’ll take a quick look around Jongno, Cheonggyecheon [a stream in Seoul], Namdaemun Market, and Seoul Station.”

Seeing the sign for a rice store reminded him of his days as Chairman Wang.

He had stolen 70 won from his father’s cattle money to go to Seoul and study accounting but was caught by his father and sent back home. He returned to Seoul and worked at the Incheon docks, construction sites, a taffy factory, and a rice store, doing whatever he could. His youth was spent running forward.

Cheonggyecheon came into view. Women were washing clothes in the stream, which was almost sewage.

On both sides of the stream, shantytowns that looked like they would blow away with a puff of wind were densely packed.

After the 6.25 War [Korean War, 1950-1953], displaced people and refugees from the North who had no land flocked to Seoul.

Cheonggyecheon was where those who came to Seoul with nothing and nowhere to turn gathered.

Their shelters were makeshift shacks made by erecting wooden pillars and patching them together with planks, barely protecting them from the wind and rain.

Tiled and corrugated iron roofs were out of the question, and all they could do was place bricks or stones on the planks to prevent them from flying away in the wind.

Having lived in the high-rise buildings of the 21st century until recently, returning to 1967 felt like watching a black and white TV.

Ah, Korea is probably the only country on Earth that has changed so drastically in 50 years.

Lost in thought, he was crossing the Cheonggyecheon bridge when he tripped over something.

It was a girl who looked to be about 6 or 7 years old. Her hair was matted as if she hadn’t washed it in ages, her cheeks were chapped and cracked, her nose was covered in dried snot, and her hands were chapped.

She was wearing layers of torn men’s clothing that weren’t hers, and she smelled terrible. He noticed she was barefoot.

Her growth was stunted due to malnutrition, so she might have been over 10 years old.
The girl skillfully held out something in front of the President. It was a dented tin can.

“Kind sir, please spare a penny~.”

The President’s eyes welled up with tears, blurring his vision.

This begging girl must be an orphan. She must be living by begging, having joined a beggar gang.

Ah, this child’s bleak future is so hopeless.
The policies for dealing with the socially vulnerable in this era are extremely harsh. The Busan Hyungje Welfare Center during the Park Chung-hee regime and the Samcheong Re-education Camp during the Chun Doo-hwan era are prime examples.

Not only the homeless, vagrants, and orphans, but even perfectly healthy people, regardless of age or gender, were indiscriminately rounded up if they were out after curfew.

Those who were indiscriminately dragged away were subjected to illegal confinement, forced labor, and wage exploitation, and some even died.

Except for organized crime members, they were not criminals but vulnerable people who should have been protected by the state.
The President knelt down to meet the girl’s eye level and said.

“Little one. Never forget what this uncle is about to tell you in your life.”

“…….”

The child had never met an adult who gave lectures instead of giving or refusing alms.

“Life is a dented tin can.”

“Hey, why a tin can? It should be a sparkling glass bowl.”

“Glass bowls are beautiful, but they become useless when they break. But tin cans can be straightened out if they’re dented, and patched up if they’re holed.”

“…….”

“You’ll have many difficult things in your life. But don’t give up, and like this dented tin can, straighten it out and patch it up a hundred or a thousand times and use it again.”

“…….”

The President took out a bill from his pocket and pressed three bills into the girl’s cracked hands.

“You must never forget what I said.”

The girl cheered at the sight of the bills.

“Wow, thank you, sir!”

The child bowed deeply, repeating her thanks several times, and then disappeared like a shot, fearing the President might change his mind.
Hoo~

The President’s heart was heavy.

In Namdaemun Market, young porters were lined up with empty carrying frames, sitting on the ground waiting for work.
A merchant with tools on his back shouted.

“I’ll fix broken pots and pans, broken spoons~ I sharpen knives~.”
A pile of used shoes was gathered on a stall, and barter was taking place.

The merchant said.

“Well, if you choose carefully, you can wear them comfortably until next year’s Chuseok [Korean Thanksgiving]~”
A woman who brought several empty bottles said.

“Mister, these are different sizes. Some don’t even match.”

“That’s why you have to choose carefully. If they all matched, they’d be new shoes, not used ones. Those bottles aren’t new either, they’re used bottles.”

In one corner of the marketplace, women were gathered, scooping soil into sieves by hand.

Then, they sifted the soil to separate the rice grains and put them into sacks.

They were picking up the rice that had spilled in the marketplace, separating the stones and rice with sieves, and harvesting it.

On one side, a long line of carrying frames and buckets was lined up in front of a water truck to receive drinking water.

Boys and girls around the age of 10 carried the heavy buckets on both sides of their carrying frames, staggering as they walked.

The daily routine for children in the mountain villages of Seoul, where there was no running water, was to fetch water and fill the water jars. If they didn’t fill the water, they couldn’t wash, do laundry, or even borrow water from their neighbors to cook rice.

On the other side, porridge was boiling in a large pot on a stove made from half of an oil drum.

It was so-called “pig slop” porridge. Pig slop, made by collecting food scraps from the U.S. military base and boiling them together, was the best nutritious meal for hungry laborers.

Even during Chairman Wang’s days, he had often filled his hunger with this pig slop porridge.
The President said to the bodyguards.

“Walking around has made me hungry. Let’s each have a bowl of this before we go.”

“T-This?”

“Why? Did you think we’d come out and eat galbi-tang [short rib soup] or something?”

“Ah, no.”

“Grandma, three bowls, please.”

“I’ve never seen your face before. Did you come to Seoul to find work?”

“Ah, yes. I just came up from Gyeongsang-do [a province in southeastern Korea].”

“There are many people but little work. Still, you have to eat to have strength.”
The grandmother generously ladled out overflowing bowls.

Slurp, slurp!

It tasted so good back then, but after coating my throat with oil at the Blue House, my throat feels scratchy. After all, the most delicious food is the food you eat when you’re hungry.
The bodyguards frowned as they ate, and the President emptied his bowl, savoring the memories.

Seoul Station.

The President looked at the magnificent stone and concrete building of Seoul Station.

The Seoul Station, with its Byzantine-style dome roof towering amidst the thatched roofs and shantytowns in the distance, was quite alien.

Invariably, signs that read “Anti-Communism and Anti-Espionage” were posted on prominent buildings.

Citizens read newspapers posted on bulletin boards.

Posters restricting childbirth were plastered everywhere, with messages such as:

– If you keep having children without planning, you won’t escape poverty.

The President chuckled.

In the 21st century, they’re worried about the population shrinking, what a luxury.
The President walked slowly, looking around like a time traveler who had traveled back in time.

“Sir, let me carry your luggage!”
A porter snatched the heavy luggage from the hands of a middle-aged woman and placed it on his carrying frame.

Without skills, they relied solely on their bodies, and because they would go hungry if they didn’t earn a daily wage, they watched the passengers with luggage in the station square, rain or shine.

“Taxi!”

Boys who looked to be over ten years old ran to the taxis and opened the doors.

“Sir, this way!”
A gentleman approached quickly and gave the child a coin.

In an era when taxis were scarce, children would hail taxis for passengers and receive payment.

“Hey, I got it first.”

“I was first.”

“Do you want to die?”
A slightly larger child made a fist and threatened, eventually snatching the customer.

People were gathered in one corner of the square. It was a “ppangppangi” game [a type of gambling game].
The round board had words written on it such as cigarettes, caramels, candies, gum, and “꽝” (꽝 means nothing or a miss).
The merchant spun the board vigorously and then threw a feather needle.

Tak-

“Ah, damn it. Another miss. Damn it, why do I only get misses?”

“Because you don’t have the skill. Watch this.”
The merchant aimed and threw the feather needle at the spinning board.

Tak!

“See, cigarettes.”

“Ha, if I hadn’t lost the money, I could have just bought a pack of cigarettes….”

As the President looked at the porters sitting down, a burly man with a towel around his neck approached the President.

“You’ve been loitering around here for a while, are you here to work?”

“…….”

“There’s a spot fee here.”

He must have thought he was a worker trying to join the porters.
A bodyguard stepped forward and threatened.

“Back off!”

At that scene, several porters rushed in and surrounded the President and the bodyguards.

“Where did this stray mutt come from!”

“Hey, he looks a bit like the President?”
The President flinched, wondering if he had been found out.