CH3 : Singapore

"Wow, so this is what Singapore felt like in the 60s."

In movies, Singapore in the 60s and 70s is often depicted as a place filled with opium dens, gangs running wild at the harbor, slums lined along filthy canals, and a society teeming with unemployed people. But that wasn't the reality.

Banners reading "Singapore Wants Independence" were hung everywhere, and people were bustling about.

Their hurried steps seemed to reflect both the anxiety and anticipation brought by the impending independence.

Though I couldn't tell what was truly in the minds of the passersby, that's how it looked to me.

"So, this is the time when Singapore was separating from Malaysia. Chairman Woo really picked an exquisite timing to catch his flight. Ah, now I'm Chairman Woo, aren't I?"

I could only describe it as sheer luck.

While working at the company, I sometimes heard legendary tales from retired Daese Group OBs, and the stories from Singapore representatives were unique.

I distinctly remembered hearing about the confusing trade that bordered on smuggling in Singapore during the 60s.

To put it simply, Singapore faced numerous issues during its independence from Malaysia.

Besides the political instability, the economic blow was significant. The first problem was that the Malaysian market, which had functioned as a domestic market, would now be a foreign market subject to tariffs.

The second, more significant issue was that even though Singapore was becoming independent from Malaysia, Indonesia, which was in constant conflict with Malaysia, banned intermediary trade with Singapore altogether.

Suddenly, Singapore lost its access to the major surrounding markets.

Those who lived by trade couldn't just quit, so they turned to smuggling.

The funny part was that even Indonesia, which imposed the import ban, couldn't operate its economy without smuggling, so they didn't crack down on it aggressively.

They would only occasionally enforce smuggling bans to control prices.

The third problem was probably the Vietnam War.

It's 1965 now, so the US was on the verge of getting mired in it.

To visit Singapore during a time when all of Southeast Asia was in turmoil, Chairman Woo must have had divine luck.

"Alright, let's hurry. We don't have much time."

We entered Singapore under the pretext of a transit stop, so we had to quickly exit to get half of the London-bound flight ticket refunded.

The airfare from Seoul to London was about $2,000 one-way at the time, so returning from a transit stop would bring about $700... roughly 300,000 won in hand.

That means I could spend around 300,000 won in Singapore. No need to walk around like a pauper.

Ding. Ding.

"Welcome, sir."

"I'd like to get a suit tailored."

Stepping out of the airport and into the city, the first thing I spotted was a tailor shop.

Luckily, it was run by an Indian owner.

"Come in, sir. Let's take your measurements first."

Having once been under British rule, Singapore had many tailor shops dealing in gentlemen's suits, naturally developing a fabric market.

"You're tall, and you have broad shoulders. A suit with a generous fit would roughly cost around $1,000..."

"Unfortunately, I don't have time to wait. How much for that suit over there?"

I pointed to a suit on a mannequin in the display while pretending to take out my wallet.

"Oh, you have an eye for quality. That suit is made from British 120-count Prestige fabric. A gentleman had it made for $900 but had to leave urgently for England, so it's left behind."

I seemed to have encountered a tailor who lied effortlessly.

Claiming that clearly polyester-blend fabric was Prestige fabric was absurd.

"What nonsense is this? Calling a polyester blend Prestige fabric!"

I put my wallet back with an incredulous expression and turned away sharply.

Huh, did I just act that well?

No, everything seemed simpler looking at the 60s as a person from the 21st century.

Even my long-unused English flowed smoothly.

"Oh, sir! I made a mistake. This suit is made from 100-count Italian Canirico fabric. It does contain some polyester, but it's wrinkle-resistant and easy to clean. It's a fabric preferred by young and handsome gentlemen like you. Since you need it urgently, I'll give it to you for $599."

"Italian Canirico? Come on, it's clearly Vietnamese fabric. Why lie?"

"..."

The tailor froze at the mention of Vietnamese fabric.

He must have thought he'd caught a naive foreigner, but this was unexpected.

How did I know it was Vietnamese fabric?

Of course, I knew.

It's one of the legendary tales of Chairman Woo I had drilled into me as a new employee at Daese Group.

Replacing the commonly used Vietnamese fabric with Korean-made fabric in the 60s was the starting point for Daese Group's rise.

"$100. That should cover the labor cost."

"$100? Does this suit look that cheap to you?"

"Don't want it? Fine, then."

I took out a $100 bill and put it back.

As I quickly turned, he grabbed my pants.

"Hey, sir. Who said no? I was just surprised at your precise offer. Alright, let's call it a deal. You seem like a regular visitor to Singapore, so let's settle at the regular customer rate."

"I'll wear the suit right away, no need for packaging. And give me some samples of the Vietnamese fabric as a service."

"Samples? Are you in the fabric business?"

"Yes, I'm a fabric trader. I have a business meeting on High Street today, but my luggage disappeared at the airport. So, I lost not only my fabric samples but also the suit I was supposed to wear."

I confidently requested samples while sticking a $10 bill into the tailor's upper pocket.

It wasn't an unreasonable demand.

Tailors receive tons of fabric samples from fabric traders.

They come in small pieces stacked in album books, which become cumbersome when accumulated.

"A meeting on High Street?"

The shopkeeper's eyes changed.

It made sense because Singapore's trade was dominated by two major factions.

One group was Chinese merchants based on Pagoda Street, and the other was Indian merchants based on High Street.

In the 21st century, the Chinese eventually pushed out the Indians, but at this time, they were in fierce competition.

And when entering a new market, the strategy was to side with the weaker party.

The weaker party always tried to bring in third parties to bolster their position.

"Was it the Indian Chamber of Commerce? Anyway, I have a meeting with the director there tonight."

"Ah! You have a dinner meeting with Mr. Razak?"

The head of the Indian Chamber of Commerce is Razak, huh?

Razak, Razak... I'll remember that.

"Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"If you're meeting Mr. Razak, I must help you. Wait a moment; you'll need a dress shirt too."

"A dress shirt isn't necessary..."

"It's a service. When you meet Mr. Razak, please mention that your suit is from Indilan Tailors."

The mere mention of the Indian Chamber of Commerce prompted the tailor to give me a dress shirt and fabric samples, promoting his shop.

It's unlikely he thought a greenhorn like me would penetrate one of the two major trading factions in Singapore.

He probably thought I was the son of an existing client...

"Sure."

I might not get the chance to mention the tailor shop's name, but I'd try. After all, he was giving me a dress shirt and fabric samples.

"Thank you. Thank you."

The shopkeeper repeatedly bowed, and I paid for the suit and left the shop.

The suit looked decent once I put it on.

New shoes would have been nice, but as long as I dusted off my old ones, they wouldn't be an issue.

"Am I taller?"

My reflection in the store window seemed different.

Maybe it was an illusion, but I felt distinctly different in the suit.

Especially my face was changing.

It felt like my original face was overlapping with Chairman Woo's face.

My once round face was becoming more angular, and my shoulders broader.

It seemed that as my mind changed, so did my body.

I felt a sense of familiarity as I started to look more like myself.

"Is this the way to High Street?"

High Street was an area with landmarks like the National Museum and National Gallery, frequented by the upper class.

In 21st century South Korea terms, it was like Hannam-dong. It was an area named High Street, openly signaling it was for the elite.

"Adelphi Hotel"

It was the most luxurious hotel symbolizing High Street.

"Welcome."

"I'm here to see Director Razak of the Indian Chamber of Commerce."

I went straight to the hotel front desk and asked for Razak.

It seemed odd to ask for the head of the Indian Chamber of Commerce at a hotel, but it wasn't wrong.

He used a suite in this hotel as both his office and residence.

Never underestimate overseas Indians.

Among the vast population, they had to belong to a reasonably high caste, be well-educated, have outstanding abilities, come from a somewhat wealthy family, and have connections to Indian central politics or Britain to be able to operate abroad.

A man leading the Indian Chamber of Commerce in the trade hub of Singapore would be in the top 0.1%.

At this time, Singapore's per capita income was around $500, five times higher than South Korea, and India's was around $60, lower than ours.

Imagine how wealthy an Indian living in a suite in Singapore's top hotel would be.

'Such a wealthy man is in great distress right now. This is the perfect chance for someone like me to meet him.'

I steadied myself and looked straight at the

 flustered front desk clerk.

Believe it. You can do this.

This was how the wheels of history turned originally.

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Razak?"

"No. I couldn't make an appointment."

"Then you cannot meet..."

"It's urgent enough that I couldn't even call ahead. Just tell him Chan-soo from Vietnam is here."

"Vietnam?"

"Yes. My name is Chan-soo Woo. He might not know my name, but he'll be expecting someone regarding the Vietnam issue. That's me!"

I showed my passport and raised my voice.

"J-just a moment... I'll make the call."

Mentioning Vietnam had scared the clerk.

What if I was the person Razak had been waiting for?

It would be a huge mistake to offend a VIP guest.

Doubtful, but the clerk had to call Razak.

Tring. Tring...

The soft ringing of the hotel's 60s-style phone was heard through the receiver.

<Hello. >

"This is the front desk. A guest is here to see Mr. Razak."

<A guest? I don't have any meetings today...>

"He said he's here regarding the Vietnam issue, and his name is Chan-soo Woo."

<Vietnam issue? Chan-soo Woo?>

"Yes. He said you'd know if I mentioned the Vietnam issue. He has a passport from South Korea."

<... Send him up.>

"Y-yes, sir."

The front desk clerk, still holding the receiver, bowed repeatedly.

I headed to the top floor.

There was no need for further directions.

---------------------

It seemed he had the entire top floor to himself, as the elevator doors opened to reveal an elderly Indian man with a fine beard staring at me.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Razak. I'm Chan-soo Woo. Please, call me Chan-soo."

I boldly extended my hand, as I had no business cards to offer.

"Welcome, Mr. Woo. Let's talk about why you mentioned Vietnam before we shake hands."

"I can supply the fabric you can't import from Vietnam. With Korean-made fabric, of course."

"!!!!"

Razak's eyes widened.