Director Lee Yong-guk

October 14, 1958. In the appellate trial of the Cho Bong-am espionage case, Prosecutor Cho In-gu demanded the death penalty. Gijo read the account of the hearing the next day, and a troubled weight settled over him.

He remembered. Thirty-six years later, in 1994, the prosecutor who had conducted that trial would look back and speak of it this way.

By his superiors he meant the prosecutor general and the Intelligence Bureau of the Supreme Prosecutors' Office. He himself, he said, had only followed the basic line handed down from above. The remark was preserved in the episode on Judge Yu Byeong-jin of KBS Documentary Theater, broadcast on January 30, 1994.

When the first trial acquitted Cho Bong-am of espionage, an enraged Syngman Rhee had pressed the officials involved, and in the end that pressure had traveled all the way down to the prosecutor in charge of the case.

Gijo knew that eleven days from now the court would pronounce a sentence of death upon Cho Bong-am.

That same day another article caught his eye. It ran in the Chosun Ilbo.

Whether Lee Hwa-ryong had truly sobbed, there was no way to know. The piece had every appearance of an article written to disgrace him.

He had come to the end of his life as a gangster. What ought to have happened in September had, in this history, slipped by a month, and in October the Chungjeongno Axe Incident broke.

The affair had its beginning in the Jongno faction. After Kim Doo-han stepped away, Shim Jong-hyeon—known as Aomasu—took the boss's seat, lost his bearings, joined hands with Yu Ji-gwang, and then attached himself to Lee Hwa-ryong. Not long afterward, as if on cue, the Dongdaemun gang opened fire inside Myeongdong territory. Hwa-ryong judged the shooting a provocation, Dongdaemun's answer to Jongno coming ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over to him. He armed his men with axes and the like at once, loaded them into jeeps, and drove straight at the Dongdaemun gang.

But Lim Hwa-soo and Yu Ji-gwang had already heard and fled. It was the Myeongdong gang the police stopped and searched. In the friction that followed, one Myeongdong man hurled an axe at an officer, and the axe that fell to the ground became the evidence of the crime. That was the cause of the Chungjeongno Axe Incident, and its end.

For raising an axe against the police, every man of the Myeongdong gang was taken into custody. Even Yu Ji-gwang, long sheltered by the authorities, was arrested—perhaps because the offenses he had piled up were simply too many to overlook.

Gijo looked at the photograph of Lee Hwa-ryong with his head hung low, and nodded. Cho Bong-am would die, in the end, by way of a trial. Lee Hwa-ryong, by contrast, could live only if he stood one. The lives of the two men would fork in a courtroom.

He had just finished the morning paper when Lee Seong-ryong of Myeongwolgwan came to Cheongsan headquarters. She was sick with worry for her younger brother and had come to beg Gijo's help.

"Young-su's dad, please save our Hwa-ryong. You're close with Kwak Young-joo over at Gyeongmudae, aren't you?"

"Don't worry. I'll pull every string I have and get Brother Hwa-ryong out of this."

He could make the promise because he knew how it would go. The prosecution would demand three years' imprisonment from the very first trial, and after that a string of suspended sentences would set Hwa-ryong free. Part of the leniency would come from a bench crowded with men from the North. Part of it would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be the court's own mitigation: Hwa-ryong had never meddled in politics and had done nothing but straightforward gangster's work.

Even to Gijo's eye, he was a pure gangster. When the powerful organizations of Seoul pooled their shares in the Geonjung Friendship Society—the cartel through which they skimmed U.S. military surplus—the Myeongdong gang was the only outfit that stayed out. Kim Doo-han and Lee Jeong-jae had both forgotten old grudges and gone into partnership the moment money was on the table. Hwa-ryong had not. He never lost sight of his actual trade. A gangster, to his mind, ought to behave like a gangster: protect his own turf, and inside it collect nothing but protection money. And because he stopped short of real cruelty on that turf, he never lost the neighborhood's goodwill. In the end, that was what would save him.

"Young-su's dad, I went to the police station to see him, and they wouldn't allow the visit.... I keep thinking they mean to hit Hwa-ryong with a heavy sentence, and it's eating me up."

"I don't think that's it. The political climate is severe these days, that's all. I'll go see Brother Hwa-ryong myself, and I'll call on the superintendent in person."

Syngman Rhee and the Liberal Party were ramming a new National Security Act through the National Assembly. The mood of the country was hardening, and the authorities were simply coming down harder on gangsters. Nothing more.

But for all Gijo's assurances, Lee Seong-ryong was not easily soothed. She held out the bundle she had brought.

"Then at least take this. Deer antler and ginseng. I picked out only the very best. If you pass it along to the superintendent, maybe he'll go a little easy on my brother...."

"Yes. I'll see that he gets it."

Gijo accepted the bundle she pressed on him. He had no need of it, but a refusal would only have made her more anxious, so he took it. He calmed her as well as he could and sent her on her way.

He had no intention of going to see Kwak Young-joo, and no intention of delivering the bundle of tonics. If Park Chung-hee's May 16 succeeded, this trial would be the indulgence that let Hwa-ryong survive the military government's sweep of the gangs. He had to be found guilty, without qualification, of having tried to raid the Dongdaemun gang. Under Liberal Party rule, that conviction would become a decoration for having stood against the political gangsters.

Not long after Lee Seong-ryong had gone, Director Lee Yong-guk knocked at the door of the chairman's office.

"Come in."

Within Cheongsan Group, Director Lee Yong-guk was known as the English gentleman. It was not that he wore expensive clothes with any particular dash. It was the way he was always immaculate, and the way his dress and his bearing never once let his dignity slip.

"I have something to report."

He laid out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the record of matching the technologies Cheongsan's affiliates required with the companies able to supply them. Ninety-five percent of the matches had succeeded. A quiet pride rose in Gijo's chest at the thought that he had brought in the right man.

"You've worked hard, Director."

"Not at all. I only joined interests that already matched. Cheongsan and the other companies both stood to gain, so the partnerships simply came together well."

Lee Yong-guk was always modest. He had spent nearly a month weighing Gijo's offer before he accepted it, and Gijo himself had not been free of hesitation in recruiting him. The man was a former official of the Japanese Government-General of Korea. He had served in the Bureau of Production and the Bureau of Commerce and Industry under the Government-General's Department of Agriculture, Commerce, and Industry; after liberation he had worked in the Mining and Industry Bureau of the U.S. Military Government, and after the Republic was established, at the Ministry of Commerce and Industry.

He was a civil servant out of the Government-General, yes—but not everyone who had served there was a pro-Japanese collaborator. And frankly, officials with no Government-General experience knew little and were short on real ability. Seasoned to the bone in agriculture, industry, and mining, he was precisely the man Gijo needed.

During his years in government his posts had changed often. As a section chief he had been pushed out of the Industry Bureau and left to drift through Trade, Fisheries, and Patents, but Gijo judged that a merit rather than a flaw. It had widened the man's eye.

The Syngman Rhee regime committed fraud at every election, and when each election ended the public mood turned ugly. Whenever it did, the government purged civil servants in the name of sweeping out corruption. The first targets were always officials who held the power to grant permits and licenses, and section chiefs in particular were dismissed in great numbers. Section chiefs with licensing authority took so many bribes that anonymous complaints came in, or scandals broke into the open. That Director Lee had never been dismissed, only moved from one bureau to another, was proof of how clean he had been. A section chief who worked well and took nothing was rotated in just that way, and kept at his work.

Gijo was curious why a man of such a record, his ability already proven, had come to Cheongsan instead of choosing Samsung. When Gijo made the offer, Lee Yong-guk had been on the point of leaving his section chief's post, and Samsung recruited a great many able officials.

"Director, why did you choose Cheongsan? Weren't Samsung's terms better? You must have known plenty of people there."

"Samsung's terms were better, in fact. But they approached me through acquaintances. They never came to me themselves, as you did, Chairman."

"Then it was worth calling on you in person. I'm glad. Ha ha ha."

The two of them laughed. Gijo put a question to a man whose understanding of industry ran deep. Lee Yong-guk was more than a man of practical affairs; he had the whole industry of the 1950s in his grasp, and he made an excellent partner in conversation, someone who could answer what Gijo wondered and advise him besides.

"Not long ago I went out looking at land with the president of Taechang Textile. They've borrowed a fortune from the government, and the company itself is large. I couldn't understand why he was doing it."

"It will be the slump. Once American aid shifted over to the form of loans, the textile trade must have been desperate for materials. The last time I checked, textile mills were running at no more than thirty-eight percent of capacity."

Gijo nodded. Even a huge loan could not produce goods when the raw materials were lacking, and even what a company managed to make would not sell in a depression, so the firm had turned its eyes elsewhere. That was the explanation. Director Lee added that the nylon they did turn out was not of a quality fit for export, and that for Taechang there would have been nothing for it but to put the money into land.

"Hearing you explain it, I understand."

He was content. Here beside him was a man who could talk, on nearly equal terms, with the knowledge Gijo himself had carried back from the future.

"What share of our industry does manufacturing account for at present?"

"Manufacturing is only about seventeen percent. Within manufacturing, the share of producer-goods industry is lower still. About eighty percent is consumer goods."

"And among consumer goods, textiles and food and drink stand highest, don't they?"

"They do. That was one of the reasons I chose Cheongsan over Samsung. Samsung is throwing everything it has into the consumer-goods industries that make money now. Cheongsan was different. The effort you put into producer goods, which do not make money, was what attracted me."

"Is that so? We turn a fair profit on consumer goods ourselves. Thank you for thinking so well of Cheongsan."

At that modest deflection, Lee Yong-guk answered.

"I asked Department Head Seong Dae-ik for the figures and looked them over. Contrary to what you say, Chairman, Cheongsan has been earning enormous sums in brick, cement, the coal mines, shipping, and transport. Miwon makes money too, but that only turns cash over quickly and helps with the management of funds. The great profits, you are taking mostly from industrial goods."

He had Cheongsan's structure of earnings firmly in hand. A mere fortnight as head of the Integrated Coordination Office, and he seemed already to have the affiliates down cold. The meticulous skill of a career administrator had not left him.

Gijo decided to test him.

"Director, I've taken something of an interest in urban planning."

Even at the news that Gijo, the head of a mere private company, cared about urban planning, Lee Yong-guk's expression did not change by a hair.

"So I wondered—could you recommend a true master of the field? Current official or former, I don't mind which."

Lee Yong-guk seemed to think it over carefully, and then he named one man.

"Jang Hoon, who is working as construction section chief in South Chungcheong Province, would be the right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man."

Inwardly, Gijo was impressed. As expected. Talent recognizes talent.

Gijo knew the name Jang Hoon well. He too was a civil servant who had worked since the colonial period, a man who had served Seoul City as chief of urban planning. Whenever Gijo pored over the records, taking the measure of Seoul in the 1950s, that name never failed to appear. He was the man who, from the urban planning chief's chair, had borne the rebuilding of a capital smashed by the Korean War.

The moment Seoul was retaken he came back into the city, before the war itself was over, and rebuilt it on a budget and with a workforce so meager they hardly bore speaking of. He cleared away twelve thousand street trees toppled during the war and carried off six thousand corpses, driving himself day and night for the restoration of Seoul. He was the father of the great avenues and parks of the city as it stood now.

He more than doubled the width of roads laid down under Japanese rule, and he drew roads that had wandered in bends as straight as they could be made. Gwancheol-dong, where Gijo's broadcasting station stood; Myeongdong; Sejong-daero before Gwanghwamun; the Jongno crossroads—nearly everything Gijo saw, living in Seoul, had passed under that man's hand. He had seized the opening left by the city's ruin, widened the roads the Japanese had built, and redrawn the parcels of a Seoul that had sprawled without plan.

Where the American bombs had not fallen and the streets remained whole, his hand had not reached. But every road of fifteen meters and more that the citizens of Seoul now used could fairly be called his work. Jang Hoon was the father who had made Seoul anew, and he was as good as the teacher who had taught Gijo the city while he prepared for his return.

Gijo asked as if he knew nothing of it.

"A construction section chief in South Chungcheong would hardly know Seoul well, would he? It's the urban planning of Seoul that interests me."

"He served in Seoul City from the colonial period, originally. He was urban planning section chief for a long time. He rotated through civil engineering and waterworks, and when Seoul had no post left for him, he went to South Chungcheong."

Gijo nodded. It matched what he knew.

The urban planning chief's seat had always been a post that ended in dismissal, tangled up with corruption. Jang Hoon had been clean, and good at the work, so they would send him to another section and then call him back to urban planning. But officials in those other sections rebelled, as if the pattern were favoritism shown to him alone, and so he had been sent off to South Chungcheong.

"Do you know him yourself?"

"I do. We worked together restoring the war-damaged districts. He helped me a great deal, especially when I was rebuilding the industrial zone at Yeongdeungpo."

People of a kind, it seemed, knew their own.

"I'd like to bring him to Cheongsan. Would you put your weight behind it, Director?"

"If it is a matter of bringing him in, I'll do everything I can. Though I am curious what work you mean to give him."

"We've just built a logistics warehouse in Yeongdeungpo, and I'd like to expand the company eastward. There seems to be a great deal of idle land south of the Han, out across Siheung County and Gwangju County. I think I'll need his eye."

The stretch of Siheung County and Gwangju County he had named was land that would one day be called Gangnam.

"Understood. I'll go to Daejeon and meet Mr. Jang."

Lee Yong-guk had agreed to help bring in Jang Hoon, the first urban planner of the Republic of Korea. Settled inside Cheongsan Construction, the man would have an important part to play in the building of apartment complexes, and in the development of Gangnam still to come.

Watching him, Gijo understood all over again that the old saying was true. Personnel was everything.