ISDN Ignition
“Hmm? What’s going on?”
Setup had gone smoothly, yet every attempt to place a call produced only the endless ringing of a signal with no connection. It took Choo Myeong-seok phoning the Korea Telecom Yeoju branch, asking questions and issuing instructions, before the line finally came through. The cause was simple: the ISDN relay they had added to the exchange equipment at the Yeoju branch had never been connected to the exchange circuit itself. Once the exchange and the ISDN relay were linked, the connection at Yoo Jae-won’s house worked as well.
“It’s live!”
Connecting to KETEL through the dedicated ISDN number made the speed of text appearing on screen dramatically different. Even screens packed with characters loaded in less than a second, as if exploding onto the display.
“Let’s pull some files.”
Choo Myeong-seok immediately entered KETEL’s public archive and downloaded a parking program that had been released for free.
“Whoa! It’s fast!”
A blistering six kilobytes per second. Compared to the three hundred bytes per second they had managed the day before, the speed had increased twentyfold. At that rate, connecting to the United States would allow smooth multi-user chat through the messenger and even low-resolution video calls.
Thanks to the performance, the two researchers could hand over the equipment rental, installation, and communication fees with genuine smiles. Minister Oh Myung had originally planned to waive charges for the pilot service, but he collected every receipt meticulously so that no one could later accuse them of favoritism.
By the time installation was complete, Yoo Jae-won’s mother arrived with a tray of fruit—apples, bananas, kiwis, and strawberries in generous portions. The family’s improved circumstances were clearly visible in the spread. Yet neither Yoo Jae-won nor the two researchers could spare a moment to eat; they were too busy experiencing the raw power of ISDN.
“All right, let’s try the internet.”
Yoo Jae-won moved to the most important test. He navigated to KETEL’s paid services and selected the internet connection option. Since services like the World Wide Web did not yet exist, “internet” at this stage meant little more than connecting to FTP servers via numeric addresses. Unable to show them ID Technology’s own FTP server, he instead connected to the public CompuServe FTP.
“Oh! It’s fast!”
The speed at which the file list appeared was unlike anything they had seen. Dozens of entries materialized in a single burst, just like viewing a KETEL BBS screen. Even though CompuServe was heavily used, the ISDN modem’s power easily overcame the congestion.
They downloaded the North American version of Keyboard Warrior—better known as Zombie Crush—from the CompuServe FTP server, now the platform’s most popular program.
“Ah, it’s slower than the domestic network.”
Unfortunately the speed dropped by half, settling at three kilobytes per second. Still, that was twelve times faster than the 2,400 bps Yoo Jae-won had once used. Connecting to ID Technology’s own FTP server, which ran on a dedicated line and high-performance hardware, would surely restore the full six-kilobyte speed. Pairing two ISDN channels would push the rate to a staggering twelve kilobytes per second—enough for high-quality video calls.
Several more days passed. Yoo Jae-won was buried in work, building a bootloader and a custom DOS to protect ID Office. The paid beta testers’ reactions had been so positive that a mid-July launch would have been perfectly acceptable, but Microsoft’s interference had pushed the release date back. Even so, they could not delay indefinitely. August 15—Liberation Day—was set as the target. The entire development team had returned from vacation, and Yoo Jae-won himself spent every waking hour staring at the Turbo C editor, locked in combat with code.
The first break in the relentless routine came on July 18. While schoolchildren celebrated Constitution Day, Yoo Jae-won devoted the entire day to programming. The next morning he set out on an official trip. It was not truancy; the school had received formal notice. The document explained that he would be participating in the President’s IT Software Exhibition and requested the school’s understanding. Because the request had come through the Ministry of Communications, the absence would not be counted against him.
Yet he would not miss only a single day. The exhibition ran for three full days, from the 18th through the 20th, at the sizable Jangchung Gymnasium. It was open not only to officials and specialists but to the general public as well. Minister Oh Myung had mentioned that if public turnout proved low, nearby high schools would be brought in for field trips. The event was guaranteed to be grand. The company that received the strongest response would be awarded a trophy engraved with the President’s name and would earn extra points in future government procurement. While the American market mattered, protecting the domestic front was equally vital. If ID Office were designated an official government procurement item, half the battle would already be won. In any country the government itself was the largest enterprise—employing the most people and spending the most money. Korea’s 1989 national budget stood at 23 trillion won. Once the government adopted ID Office, every company bidding on government projects would follow suit, naturally establishing it as the de facto standard for word processors.
Because the stakes were so high, Yoo Jae-won had prepared meticulously. He had even loaded his cherished 486 computer into the car. The exhibition booth itself had been prepared by the Ministry of Communications, but decorating the interior was the responsibility of each participating company. To ensure the displays looked their best and the software performed at peak level, the finest hardware was essential. What especially spurred him was the rumor that Korean Microsoft would be attending. They planned to showcase MS Word and MS Excel for DOS, along with the newly released Office suite for Macintosh. Already entangled with Microsoft, Yoo Jae-won refused to stand by while they strutted in his own backyard. In the end he brought out the family treasure—the 486.
Yet he valued the machine so highly that he placed it on the back seat rather than in the trunk, fearing that vibrations at highway speed might damage its components. The shock-sensitive hard disk had been removed entirely and locked in the household safe; a fresh drive containing only DOS, ID Office, and Keyboard Warrior had been installed for the demonstration.
“We’re unstoppable now.”
The reassuring weight of the 486 felt like King Arthur receiving Excalibur.
“It’s been a while. How have you been?”
Upon arriving in Seoul, Chief of Staff Choi Kang-wook and legal team leader Robert greeted him warmly.
“Thanks to you, everything’s been fine.”
“Goodness, our president looks a bit thin. You ought to have some nourishing food. How about a hearty bowl later?”
“At least he’s grown taller, hasn’t he?”
“Ah, now that you mention it, he seems about three centimeters taller. That’s why he looks even thinner.”
Choi Kang-wook spoke with quiet gravity while Robert fussed over him. Since it was not yet lunchtime, Yoo Jae-won led them straight to Jangchung Gymnasium. With the exhibition opening the next day, the hall was already crowded with staff from every company. Inside the ID Technology booth, Seoul branch employees moved briskly, hanging decorations. Most booths carried a distinctly 1980s aesthetic reminiscent of old Korean newsreels, but ID Technology’s space stood out with a distinctly modern feel. While other companies separated their areas with white cloth draped over temporary scaffolding, ID Technology had erected solid wooden walls. They had used a full-color plotter to print the company logo at large scale and applied it like wallpaper. The star attraction—ID Office—was represented by a human-height mock-up of its packaging, and five brand-new demonstration computers had been prepared. These were not worn-out machines but the latest 386 models received only yesterday from TriGem. After the exhibition they would be sent to the Seoul and Yeoju branches for daily use, so the expense was justified. Two older 286 machines from the Seoul branch were also on hand for demonstrating the lightweight version of ID Word built specifically for that platform.
University students had been hired as booth assistants to explain ID Office’s features; technical skill had been required, but appearance had also been taken into careful consideration. Even a projector—an extraordinarily expensive piece of equipment at the time—had been rented so that the demonstration screen could be projected large in the center of the booth. Although the lamp-based projector was difficult to see in bright surroundings, it was still better than nothing. Finally, there were giveaways: blank diskettes bearing the ID Technology logo. Even 2D diskettes cost a thousand won apiece, so recipients would be delighted. Oversized paper bags printed with the same logo were also prepared; anyone carrying both the diskette and the bag would create a striking advertisement as they wandered the hall.
“Looks good.”
Yoo Jae-won nodded in satisfaction. While other booths remained firmly rooted in the eighties, ID Technology’s space already felt like the twenty-first century. As the finishing touch, he installed the 486 he had brought from home in a separate demonstration area connected to the projector, ready to showcase ID Office running at the processor’s full speed. Student assistants would handle ordinary visitors, but when buyers, corporate presidents, or the President himself appeared, Yoo Jae-won intended to conduct the demonstrations personally.
Once the 486 was in place and confirmed to be working, he stepped out of the booth.
“I’m going to take a quick look around.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“It’s fine. I doubt I’ll get lost in here.”
Choi Kang-wook had started to follow, but Yoo Jae-won stopped him. His curiosity was genuine; he wanted to see which companies were participating. Although Jangchung Gymnasium was large, the indoor court where the booths stood was compact. A few minutes of walking would reveal everything. Executive secretary Kim Dae-seok, now serving as his aide, followed silently a few steps behind.
At first Yoo Jae-won’s eyes were bright with interest, but after only a short while the light faded noticeably. The products on display reflected the dire state of Korea’s software industry—most of them were painfully inadequate. One program that claimed to enable Hangul without a Hangul card consumed far too much memory when resident. A domestically developed VGA card was on show, yet all its critical components were American-made, and its color accuracy was poor. As he continued his circuit, Yoo Jae-won’s expression remained uninterested.
Then his eyes lit up. He had reached the Korean Microsoft booth. DOS 3.3, still the most widely used version in Korea, sat on the shelves, but pride of place had been given to DOS 4.0. An employee who appeared to be staff was demonstrating version 4.0a, apparently a preview build. All internal commands—DIR, COPY, and the rest—now displayed in Hangul. Noticing Yoo Jae-won watching, the employee launched the DOS shell. A text-based, box-style layout presented file and directory lists that could be navigated with the cursor, allowing users to move between directories or execute files. It looked impressive at a glance, yet it offered little practical value. Experienced users preferred typing commands directly at the keyboard for speed, while novices found the interface dizzying and struggled to locate the functions they needed.
Having seen enough, Yoo Jae-won turned away without regret.
“There it is.”
What caught his attention next was a tiny, single-booth space tucked into the farthest corner of the hall. Only one computer stood inside, but the young people preparing it radiated energy and passion. Soon they began hanging a makeshift sign across the top of the booth—large Hangul characters printed one by one on sheets of A4 paper.
—Hangul 1.0
It was the smallest booth at the entire exhibition, yet to Yoo Jae-won it radiated a presence far greater than even the Korean Microsoft display.