CH29 : Container

Ding ding ding ding.

I picked up a hammer and struck the bell hanging at the Jindallae Ironworks. The people in the surrounding ironworks glanced over curiously.

"If you want to earn 80,000 won a month, gather here."

"80,000 won a month?"

"Is there anything that pays 80,000 won a month?"

The amount was more than five times the average wage, so people flocked over.

The looks in their eyes were not kind.

They looked at me as if I were a swindler peddling a scam, like the recent trend of fraudulent money-collecting schemes. It was hard to believe, but their curiosity won out, so they listened.

"You all know there's a big war in Vietnam right now, right? We're recruiting people to work there. We need to build military facilities to protect our soldiers from the bullets flying everywhere, and we need welders, heavy equipment operators, construction workers, loaders, and all sorts of technicians."

"Huh? We're going to a war zone?"

"Is this like the miners sent to Germany?"

"Then we should call them Vietnam technicians? This sounds much more dangerous than the miners."

"Of course it's dangerous. Didn't you hear him say bullets are flying everywhere?"

My exaggerated shout seemed to intrigue them even more.

That's right, neighborhood uncles.

Become rich with my father.

"We're only taking 200 people, and applicants will come from all over the country, so there will be a test."

"What kind of test? Do we just have to lift a bag of rice?"

They really did test lifting a bag of rice to pick miners for Germany?

Well, strength was important, but it wasn't quite what I needed.

I needed real technicians, not just labourers.

These people would become my father's future colleagues.

"It won't be a simple test. Since we have to build all kinds of facilities, including ports, skill is more important than strength. Have you heard of containers?"

"Containers?"

"What's a container? Is it a new type of canned food?"

The concept of containers didn't exist back then.

"I know. They're steel boxes for loading goods onto ships."

"Haha, Mr. Kim Chun-seok, you're already accepted. You'll be one of the examiners."

"What? I'm already accepted?"

My father was surprised.

How surprised would he be if he knew I was here because of him? He'd probably never know for the rest of his life.

"Your welding skills are excellent. You remove the slag meticulously and your weld fillets are perfect."

I tapped the steel structure my father welded and continued.

"The test you'll take is to build special containers. We'll provide the materials, but only those who pass will get paid. If you're not confident, don't try. If you fail, we'll claim damages."

"Damages?"

"What's a special container?"

Mentioning damages made some step back, and others asked questions about their welding skills.

"It's a 40-foot container with double walls filled with insulation. I'll give the materials and design to Mr. Kim Chun-seok here, so follow his supervision."

"Wow! That's a lot!"

I handed my father the wad of money I had prepared.

It would have been more convenient if there were higher denominations, but back then, the highest denomination was 500 won.

People murmured at the thickness of the wad.

"Look at that money. It's not a bluff."

"What bluff... What if he runs off with that much money?"

Why are you so surprised? My father is an honest man.

He wouldn't run off with just this.

Amusingly, the wad of money changed the expressions of sceptical people.

"It's the down payment. Buy the materials and deliver the containers, and I'll pay 30,000 won each."

"30,000 won each?"

My father was still shocked.

Containers are expensive items, costing over 3 million won each in the 21st century.

They are structures made with 6-ton steel pillars and meticulously built walls with 2-ton steel plates.

The containers I planned to build even had insulation, a special specification.

Even by the standards of the 60s, the insulation and steel plate alone would cost at least 25,000 won.

"I'll only pay if they're properly made. I'll draw the design now."

It wasn't much of a design.

I specified the container dimensions and insulation thickness in my notebook and drew where the windows should be on the side.

'You said it could be used to carry goods and even as a house if needed, right?'

'That's right.'

When I tore the page from my notebook and drew the simple design, my father whispered to me immediately.

As expected, my father!

He had a knack for understanding work and was quick to catch on.

He never forgot anything once he heard it, and he immediately realized that this design was a confidential matter.

"Everyone, follow Mr. Kim Chun-seok's instructions. Mr. Kim will check the quality of the containers and select the passers. Bring the finished containers to Pier 6 in Busan Port."

"Where do the passers go?"

"Those who pass will be notified separately of the assembly time and place in a month. Remember, only 200 people."

In history, whether they were soldiers or technicians sent to Vietnam, they all departed from Busan Port.

I'll just call them to Pier 6.

"A month later?"

"Those who pass will go to the war zone for at least a year, away from their families. Be prepared."

"How much is the exact salary?"

"I'll guarantee at least 80,000 won. Hazard pay will be calculated separately."

"They'll even give hazard pay!"

"Wow!"

It seemed like no one was thinking about going to a war zone.

Well, back then, for Koreans, Vietnam wasn't a war zone but an 'El Dorado'.

In the early 70s, there was even a popular song called "Sergeant Kim from Vietnam."

'Father of Dong-sik, Father of Seok-dae, Father of Young-ho... I'll make you all rich.'

Taking these people might mean my childhood friends wouldn't be born because of the butterfly effect.

I might not even be born myself...

Well, so what?

I've already decided to change everything.

I'm not afraid of the butterfly effect.

I'd make this choice no matter how many times I was reborn.

Rather than repeating a life like the past, I'd rather disappear like dust.

"Mr. Kim, when's the test?"

"You know my welding skills, right?"

"Everyone line up. We'll get the materials and hold the test, so if you want to participate, write your name here."

My father was already acting like an examiner.

That's right, set your posture and become an even bigger boss.

"Sir, would you like some cold sweet rice drink in this heat?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you."

My mother, ever so kind, brought a cold sweet rice drink from somewhere and offered it to me.

Even though my father was going far away to earn money, she looked more expectant than worried.

'Look forward to it, Mom. I'll get you the two-story western-style house you wanted. A palace-like house with a garden.'

I was thinking of paying a very high price for the sweet rice drink.

"Thank you. I'll be on my way now."

"Aren't you going to check in the middle?"

"I don't have time. Once the container is reasonably completed, call the number on the business card. I'll pay for the materials then."

I could trust my father.

No, it was more accurate to say that since my father was forming the first organization, there was no need for me to interfere.

The more experience he gained in choosing the right people, the better.

"Take care. See you at Busan Port."

"Goodbye."

I hurriedly walked away.

There were countless things to prepare.

---

I took a taxi near Yeonji-dong in Busan.

「US 8th Army 4th District 20th Area Support Group」

The official sign was quite complicated, but it was the US military camp called Haya-ria.

"This camp was flashy even back then."

The US military camp was, then and now, a piece of America within South Korea, but back then, it was also a livelihood for many people.

If you went out the back gate, there were numerous stores selling American surplus clothes, accessories, and cosmetics, and across the road, there was a bar named UN Club catering to American soldiers.

Canned goods, canned beer, military uniforms, boots, and medicines pilfered from the base stores or warehouses were top-quality products for Koreans.

"Among those, fireworks were the best."

Memories of those times came flooding back.

Civilians could enter the Haya-ria base only twice a year.

On American Independence Day and Thanksgiving, there were fireworks, parachute demonstrations, officer wives' bazaars, American snacks like hamburgers, and all sorts of activities all day long.

It was a chance to experience a bit of American abundance.

Because of this, compared to the Yongsan base in Seoul, the Haya-ria base was relatively well-regarded by Busan residents.

The Haya-ria base, being a rear base, served as a terminal for receiving and dispatching supplies for the US forces in Korea.

The highest-ranking officer in the base was only a major, and the military discipline was loose, so to speak.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that all the luxury goods in Busan, from TV sets to whiskey, even butter, flowed out from the Haya-ria base PX.

"Alright, let's go in."

I headed towards the back gate confidently.

To catch a tiger, you need to enter its lair, and it's better to catch it alone.

The tiger's hide must remain intact for it to be valuable; splitting it up makes it worthless.

"Halt! Stop right there."

"Okay, okay

."

I stood still while the guard frisked me thoroughly.

"What's your business here?"

A big black man chuckled as he asked.

People who walked in so confidently through the back gate were usually porters stealing goods from the PX.

"I'm Woo Chan-soo from Daese Industries. A VIP here invited me."

"VIP?"

"General Van Flint."

I handed the guard my business card.

"Huh?"

"Call and check. He'll tell you to let me in."

"... Wait a moment."

"Sure."

Mentioning Van Flint made the guard tense up.

I waited leisurely in front of the guard post.

"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!"

The guard kept repeating "Yes, sir" into the phone and then quickly ran out of the post.

"Sir, please come in. I'll guide you."

The guard, now very respectful, saluted me and led me into the camp.

"Here it is."

The place we arrived at was a club called Heaven Club, exclusive to officers. After responding to the guard's salute, I walked into the club.

The round hall seemed to be at least a hundred pyeong (approximately 330 square meters).

Ceiling fans were spinning, and 60s music was playing.

Various kinds of liquor filled the display cabinets, and at the far end, Van Flint was enjoying a cigar and whiskey with a bartender in front of him.

It felt like a high-end bar you might find in Chicago.

Is it alright for a retired general to enjoy such luxury?

Well, this is American soil, not Korea.

"Come on in, Mr. Woo."

"Hello, General Van Flint."

"Sit down. I've been looking forward to seeing you."

He leisurely enjoyed his cigar and offered me a seat.

"Were you alone?"

"Of course, I'm alone. This is my personal bartender. His cocktails always satisfy me."

He introduced the camp bartender as if he were his private one.

He was essentially saying that whatever was said here would stay here.

Even though he was a retired general, he was treated as a VIP in the camp. Big-shot politicians are indeed different.

Honestly, if I had known the person David, a World Bank officer, was going to introduce me to was Van Flint, I wouldn't have bothered meeting the local head of Gulf.

Refusing the connection had ironically piqued this man's curiosity. I was indeed lucky in this life.

"By the way, what brings a busy lobbyist like you here?"

"I'm not a lobbyist. I'm just a businessman running a small factory."

"Haha, no need to beat around the bush. We both know each other's true nature, don't we?"

"I'm not a lobbyist, General."

Lobbyist, he says. I don't work as a pawn for politicians. I always work for my own benefit.

"How long has it been since I retired, yet you keep calling me General?"

Van Flint abruptly changed the subject.

He had indeed been through a lot.

"Then what should I call you? You were the last commanding general of the Korean War, a major figure in commerce, a diplomat surpassing the US ambassador to Korea, and also an author. Oh! You're also the chairman of the Korea Society."

I humorously matched his tone.

Americans particularly appreciate humour.

Exchanging jokes like this can turn a distant relationship into a friendship.

Of course, it was possible because this man was historically a respected soldier and despised racial discrimination.

"Hahaha. Alright, call me whatever you like."

Van Flint's love for Korea was extraordinary. He even created a foundation called the Korea Society and was active in it until his death.

Maybe it was because he lost his son during the Korean War; he showed an exceptional affection for Korea and helped Korea in many ways as an unofficial ambassador between the US and Korea.

Not only within the US but also among high-ranking officials in Europe, he helped Korean conglomerates expand overseas. I just learned today that he also influenced the investment in the Ulsan Petrochemical Complex and the dispatch of troops to the Vietnam War.

"By the way, how did you know I was here?"

He suddenly stopped laughing and asked bluntly.

"Shouldn't you ask why I came first?"

"... Alright, let's change the order. Why are you here?"

"I heard the dispatch of Korean troops is imminent. While many young people risk their lives fighting, I'm here to make money. But I hope this business will help the soldiers and my country."

"!!!!!"

As I continued speaking, Van Flint put down his glass.

It was the reaction I expected.

'The land of Korea, where my son sacrificed his life, must become as great as the future my son could not achieve. That was why I loved Korea, and now I have no regrets seeing it happen before I die.'

That was said to be Van Flint's will when he died in the early 90s, and it seemed to be true.